


Better than the Alternative

by FreakyDeaky



Category: Far Cry 3
Genre: Anal Sex, Bestiality (mentioned), Blood Kink, Captivity, Depression, Explicit Sexual Content, Felching, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Torture, Intercrural Sex, Internalized Homophobia, Isolation, M/M, Masturbation, Near Death Experiences, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Trauma, Rimming, Snowballing, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:59:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2112621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreakyDeaky/pseuds/FreakyDeaky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason and his friends escape the Rook Islands, but they don't get far. Now Jason is Vaas' hostage.</p><p>He begins to accept it, after a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Isolation

He’s been alone too long.

The night is far noisier than the day. The deafening chirp of insects, distant howling and snarling, and rustling leaves as unseen creatures creep through the tree branches nearby have been almost constant since the sun went down. 

It makes it difficult for Jason to sleep. 

He has come to accept, without complaint, the fact that he may spend the rest of his short days in this concrete shoebox of a room, with its dirty stack of mattresses and oil drums and munitions crates for furniture. He wonders how long it will be before he is dismissed as a drain on resources and shot in the head - if he is lucky. 

He accepts his isolation now, with a numb lack of concern. It’s easier.

No news is good news, as they say. Through lack of stimulation his mind turns inward, and he has spent long hours tonight lying on his back pressing his eyelids with his fingers to look at the bursts of colour through the blackness. He tries to focus on Liza, with her soft brown hair and lean white arms and scatter of freckles across her nose and cheeks. 

He is mildly alarmed that he can no longer summon the emotional strength to worry for her, or the rest of them. He thinks of them with a detached interest, as he may remember friends in pre-school who he hasn’t thought of in decades; those who are gone, and whose lives will never cross with his again, immortalised in the fog of his memory, unchanging and ageless and ghostly as one remembers childhood friends; as something other than children. 

He can’t remember the colour of Liza’s eyes as he holds the knife to her throat and her mouth moves, pleading, tears spilling over the freckles and tracking muddy patterns through the dirt and soot. He can smell greenery and damp stone, but he can barely hear a thing – just the pounding of blood in his ears as he chooses. 

Other memories are clearer. He can see the sunlight, that day on the rusty boat, so clearly that his mind’s eye has to squint. He remembers the other boats closing in. The pirates. The guns. Vaas.

He’s been alone too long.

The moon is a thin slash of light in the sky and the noises won’t allow him to sleep. He has spent too much of the day dozing in the heat and the night is still young. Wet season has just begun, and the air is heavy with moisture. The walls drip with it, sweating from the fuggy heat and damp. It will get far worse before the return of dry season brings relief.

The feeble glow from the moon creeps apologetically through the chicken-wire-covered window and casts a grey twilight pallour over stone and wood and metal, accentuating the suspicious stains on the gritty floor and turning the room into a smoky dream of a real room, half-there and indistinct, like the inside of Jason’s mind. 

He can see a dark shadow in the corner, the entrance to the bathroom where each day he fills the sink and sponges the sweat and grime from his body. He gave up wearing his stinking clothes a few days ago in favour of a threadbare towel around his waist, and the last of his pride will not allow him to call through the door for fresh garments – a request which will almost certainly be ignored. He wonders vaguely if he should go and wash again, but he is almost sure he has already cleaned himself today. He thinks of the journey – getting up, going to the bathroom, washing, walking back to the bed, lying down again – and decides not to bother.

The days and nights are bleeding together, but he is almost sure Vaas has been gone for about twelve days.

This is the longest he has ever gone without speaking to anyone. He can see down to the courtyard through the window, but it is usually deserted these days but for a few individuals conducting patrols. Vaas took a lot of his men with him. One of Vaas’ guards slides a tray of meat and rice into the room once a day through the slot in the bottom of the door. 

Jason has taken to shoving the empty tray back out into the corridor. 

He wonders if Vaas is just outside the door, patiently waiting for Jason to break and beg and plead for release. 

He’s been alone too long.

His mind wandering dangerously far, Jason anchors himself to reality the best way he knows how. He opens his towel and takes himself in hand, coaxing blood flow to the flabby tube of flesh. 

This has occupied much of his time, of late. There is literally nothing else to do. There are no books. He has tried doing sums in his head to sharpen his wits, but the numbers started to dissolve and dance out of reach by the fourth day. He won’t talk to himself, lest the guards hear and think he is going soft in the head. His mounting agitation peaked into barely-controlled hysteria on the fifth (sixth?) day, culminating in hours of quiet sobbing, after which he settled into his current torpor as if his mind has broken apart like a jigsaw and put itself back together wrong. That leaves little to do, other than push-ups, reminiscing and playing with himself. 

It could be worse.

He strokes his length softly, taking his time. His perception of reality has settled into an oddly peaceful lagoon where Vaas is not coming back, and he has all the time in the world. He moves his palm and his fingers along the length, occasionally stopping to spit on his hand to ease the friction. His loins thrum pleasantly. He thinks of Liza, of her white arms and icy thighs. The thought gives way to Citra, riding him with her head thrown back, thrusting her chest forward to display heavily tattooed breasts topped with dark nipples over a beautifully flat belly. He throws his left arm over his face, sucks on the back of his wrist just to feel his own lips and tongue as he quickens his pace. 

Another image flashes through his mind – a pair of predatory amber eyes and a crazed shark’s grin full of impossibly perfect white teeth – and he comes. 

Bereft of a father, it was Grant who gave him The Talk years ago, after an unfortunate surprise encounter involving a thirteen-year-old Jason and an unlocked bathroom door. One of most valuable pieces of information provided by his big brother was that images which come to mind during masturbation don’t count. Ever. 

So he dozes now, unconcerned, not bothering to clean himself. He will wash later. 

An indeterminate amount of time later – the same night? the next? – there are voices from the courtyard, the sound of vehicles and booted footsteps, but his brain in its formless dream-state does not register whether or not they are real. It’s not the first time that he has doubted his senses recently. 

He’s been alone too long.

Likewise he assumes it is a dream when the door opens, allowing a small amount of sick yellow light into the murky room from the hallway’s broken bulb, and he hears the sound of a rucksack dragged across the floor. 

It must be a dream too, when the mattresses sink with added weight and he feels the tickle of facial hair against his ear, soft lips pressing tiny kisses to his cheek, neck and shoulder, trailing down his chest to stop at his stomach where a hot tongue laps at the crusting mess on his stomach. He groans, thrusting his hips upward pleadingly, as hard as he’s ever been in his life, and a hand strokes the inside of his left thigh. The tongue withdraws and the kisses return, pressing down his abdomen and through his dark curls before moving to the head of his cock, where the lips part and allow him passage into the beautifully wet mouth. 

More certain than not that this isn’t a dream but uncaring either way, Jason moans and reaches down as the mouth begins to slide slowly up and down his length with perfect suction, pressing lips harder when going down and softer in ascension. In the dark his hand finds his fellator’s head, hair buzzed inexpertly close to the skull but for a messy stripe down the centre. Jason’s hips buck and his lover wraps their arms around his thighs, taking him so deep he feels a nose pressed hard into his public hair. The strokes deepen without speeding up, pressure so powerful and tireless that Jason can’t help but scream “ _fuck!_ ” as he erupts into the hot mouth, which sinks down to take him in completely, then the tongue returns to swirl comfortingly around shaft and head and slit, cleaning every last drop. 

Jason is awake now, but still groggy, moaning as he reaches for the darker shadow in the shadowed room, which he can just see sitting up to remove its shirt and pants. Clothes are quickly done away with as the other carefully lays himself on top of Jason, who wraps his arms around the lean torso and finds that clever mouth to kiss. Tongues reacquaint, sharing the piscean sweet-and-sour taste of semen, slippery in between each other’s lips. Skin is clean under Jason’s hands as he caresses the taut back, and has the scrubbed feeling of one who has been bathing in salt water. The cock is full and lies heavily on Jason’s stomach, balls pressing into his sticky groin, hips moving softly for friction. 

He’s been alone too long.

“ _Vaas_ ,” Jason whispers into the mouth. He feels the other grin, and he licks across the perfect teeth. The pirate leader rises onto his knees and gropes in the dark over the side of the mattress for his rucksack. Jason hears a bottle being uncorked, then a moment later hisses through his teeth as a finger, slippery with coconut oil, tickles between his buttocks. They kiss languidly, Vaas gently stretching Jason’s pucker of tight muscle with one, two, and three fingers until Jason is hard again and writhing, his sexual afterglow quickly replaced by more arousal. He is still young.

Vaas judges him to be ready, and kneels between his spread legs, rubbing more oil on his cock. The heavy scent covers the sweat and spend and stale odour of the filthy bare mattresses. Vaas aligns himself and Jason takes the cock in hand, lifting his arse and pressing the head to his loosened hole. Vaas breaches him carefully, allowing the head to pass into Jason with what feels like a soggy pop. Jason grunts and grips the smooth shoulders. Vaas gives him a second to adjust, then presses forward, sinking slowly down into him. Jason can’t help but squeal and the pirate pauses to give him time until Jason wraps his legs around the hips and pulls him further in. When their skin meets Vaas snaps his hips forward the rest of the way and Jason bites his shoulder savagely. They remain still, connected, for a moment until Jason relaxes and Vaas begins to move.

Never silent at the best of times unless Jason’s tongue is in his mouth, Vaas breathes an endless litany of Spanish into Jason’s ear as he thrusts slowly into the paler man. Jason can process the words for _dick_ , _arse_ , _cunt_ , _love_ , _fuck_ and _sex_ as well as his name, and _brother_ , oddly enough, but the rest is a jumble to him. He raises and lowers his hips in time with Vaas’ movements, scratches his back with his fingertips and even reaches down to gently stroke a finger between the other man’s cleft. That last act earns him a warning growl – Vaas is not averse to sex with another man, and indeed knows his way around Jason’s body too well for it to be his first, but it seems he is not eager to turn the tables. Jason withdraws obediently, content to grip Vaas’ hips and aid the rhythm. He nuzzles into the neck, covered in a sweaty sheen, and scatters kisses across the skin and leather thonging of Vaas’ necklaces. 

It seems he is not in for a hard fucking tonight. Vaas keeps his rhythm steady, but begins to build up to longer, firmer strokes. Jason’s hips have begun to ache from the pressure, and his own cock is trapped between their hard stomachs. After ejaculating twice in the last few hours, it’s not enough to send him over. As if reading his mind Vaas changes his angle, raising himself up on his hands to loom over Jason in the darkness which has begun to turn a gloomy grey. Jason can see the outline of his face now, mouth still whispering gibberish in a dozen different languages. The shift gives Jason enough room to reach down and palm himself, lifting his hips further to change the angle. It works, and the head of Vaas’ cock brushes against his prostate. Jason groans and begins to flog his sore cock hard, desperate for his release as his sensitive spot is nudged again and again. Vaas is close, arms trembling, and when Jason comes with a grunt, spurting over his own hand and Vaas’ stomach, the clenching of his anus is enough to tip the pirate into his own orgasm. He gives a final hard thrust and forgets to breathe, grinding into Jason as hard as he can, and in the glow of his crisis Jason can feel Vaas’ cock in spasm, pumping semen into his lower intestine. Vaas snarls into his ear and stills, then gives a final brutal thrust and it’s over. 

They remain silent for a moment, still locked together, panting, until Vaas’ wilting cock slips from Jason’s body, followed by an unpleasant sensation of come and oil seeping from his relaxed sphincter. Vaas rolls onto his back with a contented sigh, throwing his arm across the bed. Jason reads the signal and rolls over to lie with his head on Vaas’ shoulder. He doesn’t enjoy cuddling so soon after sex, finding it hot and clammy, but Vaas likes it, so they cuddle. 

In the pre-dawn light, Vaas rolls his head to face him, almost nose-to-nose. The night creatures have ceased and the entire world is holding its breath for the new day. In the utter stillness and silence they lock eyes, both sets of irises grey and smoky in the dirty light, Vaas still breathing heavily and one hand stroking Jason’s arm. Jason feels alert again, reborn, cognisant, and wants to leap from the bed and run into the jungle to find something or someone to fight and kill, simply because right now he is invincible. 

He should be sated and drowsy. He isn’t. 

He realizes he is trembling.

He’s been alone too long.

“You missed me.” It’s not a question.

“Yes.” It’s not a lie.


	2. Nowhere To Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-con, near-death experience and helplessness in this chapter. If that's not your thing, please don't read.

It’s said that the certainty of death, when one goes willingly, is accompanied by a feeling of tranquility.

Jason is not feeling very tranquil yet. 

Failure. Betrayal. Humiliation. Fear. Loss. Futility. Grief. Dread – a dizzying and disabling anxiety for the fate of his brother and friends, sitting under his sternum like a malignancy. Jason begins to have a sense of each emotion swelling inside him like the balloons at a carnival game, firing water into a clown’s mouth to swell the rubber. He wonders which will explode first and leave him shrieking and insane. 

When they’d taken him, they didn’t even bother blindfolding him. Vaas’ arm had been around him almost the whole way. Possessive. Frightening. Fingers stroking. He could feel the bastard’s smirk against his skin. 

When they got to shore they’d tied him up, tossed him into the back of a car like a rucksack and driven him for some miles into the deep jungle. 

He’d killed hundreds of pirates. How the hell could there still be so many?

Vaas had disappeared quickly, without a word. Two nights ago, by now well into the third day. Maybe. The pirates left him alone for the most part, though he had overheard the occasional jeer and lewd joke about his perfect white arse. 

As he lies on the ground inside his makeshift bamboo cage, hands still tied behind him and so faint with thirst he couldn’t move even if he wanted to, he wonders if Keith’s fate lies in his increasingly-uncertain future. Buck is dead

_(is he? Vaas was dead too)_

but Jason doubts that this means any kind of safety. 

Jason isn’t new to bottoming. Not completely. At the tender age of 15 he’d sneaked into a club with some friends and hooked up with a 23-year-old bombshell. A striking woman, with dirty blonde hair and an hourglass figure; small in the waist with large breasts and fleshy thighs and upper arms. She wasn’t beautiful, but she had a commanding nature that teenage Jason found irresistible. Consumed with MDMA-induced rapture, Jason had fondled and groped her breasts and suckled on her nipples within a few moments of meeting her, oblivious to her intentions. She’d looked down with a detached smirk as he’d babbled about how he wished she was lactating, because he was thirsty. 

They’d dated, if you could call it that, for three weeks. He never saw where she lived, and he often suspected that her name, Faith, was a pseudonym. She’d call him two or three nights a week to meet her at a local motel, which was the only time he’d ever see her. That should have raised some questions, but when he showed up the first time to find her wearing a leather corset and stilettos, he’d never thought to refuse her. 

They had never had sex – that is, in the traditional sense. Instead she had tied him to the bed each time and ‘played’ with him, as she called it. She’d lash his drooling cock, trapped in a buzzing ring, with a small crop. She wasn’t too harsh, claiming that would ‘come later’, striping his thighs and lower belly. She’d run vibrating toys over his testicles. And despite his protestations, she’d always probe at the back door, first with small bullets, increasing the size each time until by the end of the third week Jason was able to take a moderately-sized plug. 

Faith had been delighted at his physiological reaction. “You’re sensitive,” she reassured him, as he gibbered in denial when a vibrating mini-dildo had brought him off with his cock untouched. “It doesn’t mean you’re gay or anything. It just means you can get a lot of pleasure from your arsehole. That’s a good thing.” 

He never became comfortable with the practice, for all that he continued responding to her calls. He’d tasted his own semen but he’d never probed himself, and the spikes of almost-unbearable stimulation when his anus was penetrated were disturbing; the intensity barely identifiable as pleasure. Did all men feel this way? If so, why did no one talk about it? His innocence was behind him, and he was part of the stereotypical crowd that loved porn, beer and cheerleaders, boasting about their many conquests. This, though, he can’t reconcile in his mind. Could he strut to the showers after gym and proudly announce that an older woman had given his ring a good working-over last night? It didn’t sound right. At all. 

Grant noticed the shift in Jason’s routine and had some questions about this new woman in his little brother’s life. On learning Faith’s age, as well as some heavily-edited facts about the nature of their relationship, he took Jason’s phone and called her. And that was the end of that. 

It was actually a relief. 

That time of his life seems so far away he can scarcely believe it had actually happened to him, rather than something he read or saw in a movie. 

He hadn’t appreciated before he was recaptured that his body and soul have been through harsh trauma over the past few weeks. He’s exhausted. Utterly and completely, in his bones, right to his core. Now that he’s stopped, the aftermath of the killing, the terror, the pain and the rage, the beast 

_(warrior)_

within unsheathing its claws… it’s crushing him. 

He hasn’t begged for water. He won’t. 

Earlier on he was on danger of retching, choking on his own foul bile, agony in his temples like twin sinkholes into his skull, but even that has faded away. He feels like he’s turning to salt and dust. It’s no more than he deserves, really. He pissed himself two days ago. His bowels have turned to stone. His tongue sits heavily in his mouth like a dead thing. He wouldn’t be surprised if it had turned white and crusted through lack of fluid. His lips feel glued together with suppurating sores, though he’s almost sure he doesn’t actually have any. 

About half a day ago, he realised he was dying. Surprisingly, or not, his Fear balloon deflated a little. 

He can only hope to slip away into death quietly, without anyone noticing. 

He’s actually trying to hurry the process along. Willing himself to sleep, to fade in and out of consciousness, hoping thinly that this time he’ll be gone for good. 

By the light of the sun and moon filtering through the trees above (three days? Four?), it seems that he’s spending longer and longer blacked out. Excellent. It shouldn’t be too much longer, then. 

He can almost feel the tranquility.

Failure. Betrayal. Humiliation. Fear. Loss. Futility. Grief. Dread.

He hopes they don’t follow him to where he’s going. 

So when he feels rough hands shaking him, on the edge of consciousness, he doesn’t respond. When, an indeterminate amount of time later, someone drags him across the ground to prop him up against a corner of the cage, he actually grunts in protest. _Leave me alone. I was almost there._

His eyelids are too swollen and heavy to open. But when he feels a wet sponge against the side of his face, his traitorous body turns toward it, whimpering as his lips seek the water. 

The sponge squeezes. His lips come unstuck, painfully. He’s too weak to lift his arms, so all he can do is open his mouth and swallow at the thin trickle. 

A splash as the sponge is wet again. More water, dribbling on his face and into his mouth. It’s fresh and cool. Sweet. It’s the best thing he’s ever tasted in his life. 

He slurps down a few mouthfuls before the sponge returns to wipe his face. He feels the loss of the presence beside him, leaving him slumped in the corner, still unable to move but desperate for more. He hears voices. Arguing. One sounds like Vaas, angry. 

His stomach is keeping the water down, but the darkness is looming again. Jason dives into it, gratefully. 

The REM cycle brings the sensation of time passing during normal sleep; this darkness has none of that.

How long has it been? He doesn’t know. Minutes? A thousand years? It’s irrelevant. 

He’s floating. Warm, safe. 

_I made it_ , he thinks, crazily, at first. Wants to weep with relief. 

But his senses slowly begin to return. Warm, yes. But his neck is uncomfortable, like he’s lying on a bar of some kind. He’s floating, because he’s in water. And cloth is stroking his chest. Washing him. 

_Fuck._ He can feel an anguished lump in his throat. 

His eyes open. Slowly. At first everything is a blur, then slowly shapes begin to make sense. He’s in a bath. A bathroom. Cracked, dirty tiles. Peeling ceiling. A smell of mould. The light is low, by a hurricane lamp on a nearby sink, and pale artificial light is coming in from somewhere behind him, from the next room. It must be dark outside. There’s a decaying shower curtain, pushed to one side. A stainless steel toilet in the corner. And a dark shape is leaning over him, supporting his head on their left arm, washing him with a face cloth. 

Jason groans. Turns his head away. He wants to flail and scream. He can’t manage more than a weak twisting of his body. 

“Sssh,” Vaas admonishes, softly. He moves the cloth down, over Jason’s lower belly, reaching forward and down, looming over his captive. 

Jason could open the man’s neck with his teeth. If he could fucking move properly. 

“Stop moving. You’ll hurt yourself.” 

He bares his teeth feebly. Ever perceptive, Vaas guesses his mood. “And you can stop looking at me like that, Jason. You’re not going anywhere. Promises, yes? Remember? You’ll play nicey-nice with me.”

He’s right. 

Failure. Betrayal. Humiliation. Fear. Loss. Futility. Grief. Dread.

“Nearly lost you there, man,” Vaas continues conversationally, moving the cloth in soft sweeps across Jason’s belly under the warm water. “I didn’t realise how worn out you were. I told my boys to make sure you were okay, though. They didn’t. I shot three of them. They disobeyed me, you know? Nearly let you die. Fucking cunts.” His voice is harsh now, angry. “Anyway, I got a local doc to have a look at you. Gave you a drip, flushed out your arsehole, made you swallow some soup, cleaned you up. You been out for a couple of days now. Shouldn’t have left you, eh?” 

The cloth is lower now, wiping at the top of Jason’s pubic hair. Jason notices Vaas looks healthy in the low light, free of bandages, but he’s shirtless and there are still healing wounds across his left ribs and down his side.

Jason himself feels… not like he’s dying. He’s weak, delicate, unable to move. But he’s not thirsty. Not sore. He doesn’t have a headache. He’s not hungry. 

He’ll probably be just fine in a few days.

The thought makes him want to shriek.

He starts as Vaas moves his hand lower, washing his cock and balls, wiping between his thighs and reaching lower between his buttocks.

“Ssssh,” Vaas whispers again, taking his time, moving the cloth slowly. It’s rough and the cheap soap has melted away. 

Jason’s Humiliation is swelling to breaking point when Vaas moves his hand away. 

“Want to brush your teeth?” he asks. Jason can only gape at him dumbly. 

“Sure, you want to brush your teeth.” Vaas reaches down, produces a toothbrush from the floor where he is kneeling. Moves his hand briefly to apply no-name toothpaste, dips it into the bathwater, cradles the back of Jason’s head in his left hand and waits expectantly. Jason doesn’t move. He can’t process this world.

“Open your fucking mouth.” The tone brooks no argument, and Jason is compelled to obey. 

Vaas is surprisingly quick and thorough, as if he has done this before. When it’s over, he lowers Jason’s head so he can take in some mouthfuls of water to rinse. 

“Not so bad, eh? You gotta look after your teeth.” 

Vaas reaches into the bath and pulls the plug. Waits for the water to drain, then begins to pat Jason down with a worn hospital-grade towel. Jason grimaces when his kidnapper gently cups his balls again, jiggling them in the towel, then reaching down to wipe his arse dry. 

The fuck. The actual fuck. How in the fucking fuck did his life turn into this?

It would be worryingly easy to slip down the rabbit hole and accept his situation as simply too absurd to be real, to go along with it until he woke up in his bed at home. 

To his horror, as if in agreement with an acknowledgement of the surreal, his cock twitches under the pirate’s wrist. Vaas doesn’t seem to have noticed. Thank the god of tiny mercies. 

Vaas coaxes him to sit upright, wiping his back. In his new position, Jason tries surreptitiously moving his left arm. It’s frail, delicate, and he can barely hold it taut. This is terrible. He can’t remember ever having felt so weak in his life. Is this the Jason Brody that blew planes and helicopters out of the air and killed crocodiles with nothing but a knife? Surely not. 

A quick wipe under Jason’s bent knees, and Vaas decides they are done. He stands, crouches, hooks Jason under the knees with his right arm and under the arms with his left, and lifts him with a grunt. 

Jason is highly aware of Vaas’ smooth bare skin against his own as he is carried from the bathroom. Vaas is warm, firm. It’s terrifying, dreamlike, too personal. 

There’s a vague odour of disinfectant in the next room. It’s a medical room of some kind, albeit makeshift. The walls are tiled with the same cracked and dirty porcelain as the bathroom, the floor is dusty concrete and there are mismatched shelves of bottles along one wall. There’s a single bed, one door, one barred window to the black unknown. A single bulb casts bleak illumination across the room. There’s a pedestal fan. And one hospital bed, a large one, next to an empty drip. The sheets are rumpled and grey. 

Vaas deposits Jason on the bed, carefully. “Been giving you sponge washes,” he says, leaning on his knees and breathing heavily. He’s obviously not completely healed. “Thought I’d give you a proper bath today. Good idea, eh? The water woke you up.” 

Jason opens his mouth. Croaks twice, swallows. Licks his lips. 

“ _How?_ ” he rasps. 

Again, the pirate is quick to glean Jason’s meaning. He grins. 

“You were tripping balls there, _hermano_. I think you thought the knife you had was a lot bigger than it really was. You got me. I let you get close. We are close, you and me. And I saw you. You looked right at me.” Vaas leans in close, breath cool and clean on Jason’s face. Whispering. “We are so fucked, Jason.”

In a swift movement, he climbs onto the bed, throwing one leg over Jason and settling on his thighs before Jason can process what he’s doing. He’s barefoot, wearing cargo pants. Jason can feel the rough material on his bare skin. 

Jason’s heart is pounding. Vaas leans close, necklaces dangling onto Jason’s chest, close enough to kiss him. 

“Did you kill her?” he whispers. Amber eyes bore into his soul, leaving no room for untruth. 

“No.” It’s more a rush of breath than words. “Dennis. Accident.”

“Explain.” A hand is suddenly on his testicles, squeezing uncomfortably tight. 

Jason bucks, but it’s barely a tremour. Helpless, hopeless, useless. “She… she got everyone. Killed the doctor. Took everyone to the temple. She blew dust in my face. Like you did. Tried to make me kill Liza. I wouldn’t. Dennis… he came at me. For rejecting her. She got in the way.”

Even closer. “Dennis?” Vaas whispers. His lips brush Jason’s. 

Jason licks his dry lips, heart thudding, and his tongue accidentally brushes Vaas’ mouth. “Yeah. Not me.”

Vaas seems to contemplate, not moving away. “Hmm,” he murmurs, shifting his head slightly so their noses aren’t crushed together. His hand is still on Jason’s balls. “That’s a bad death, man. I wish it had been you.” The hand begins to move, squeezing lightly. “You love her?” He doesn’t wait for a reply. “I loved her. I loved her so much. But… I had to go. And so did you, eh?”

_("He left me. The tribe. His birthright.")_

Their mouths are touching, lips closing on Jason’s with every word. “It should have been you.”

Jason’s traitorous body is interpreting his fright-induced state of heightened arousal as something else entirely, coupled with the fondling of his sac. His cock is plumping. 

His sex drive has always been high. And completely inappropriate. 

“You were hers. But now you’re mine.” The pirate’s mouth closes over Jason’s in a proper kiss, and Jason’s mind nearly shuts down from horror. Of everything he’d expected, he truly hadn’t thought he’d be in for sexual assault. Not from Vaas. 

He bites his lips together and whimpers, even as his erection rises further to nudge the pirate in the abdomen. There’s no way he’s unaware. Fear and Dread are warring for top priority. He’s dangerously close to hysterics. 

Vaas breaks the kiss to lick across Jason’s mouth, moving his hand to grip the stiff cock. He pulls downward, dragging the foreskin low, and is rewarded with a groan from his captive. 

“No. Please,” Jason begs, and squeaks as Vaas shifts onto his knees and moves his left hand down between Jason’s buttocks. 

Jason twists, trying to block access, but the pad of a finger is rubbing lightly against his anus. His cock jumps again. 

Vaas kisses him again, then sits upwards, keeping both hands busy. 

“Don’t worry, Jason. I’m not going to fuck you. Not this time. You been through some trauma, man. Consider this my apology to you. For leaving you with those stupid fucks.” He grins. 

No, no, no. This cannot be. It’s wrong, it’s unwanted, it’s brutal, it’s no apology at all. 

But the strokes of Vaas’ hand are delicious and his entire core is trembling from the tickling of his anus. He can’t help but buck pathetically. 

The left hand withdraws from between his buttocks. Vaas takes a small bottle from his pocket and flicks the cap. It’s oil. He pours some onto his fingers – _fuck, fuck, fuck_ – and resumes his work. 

The slippery fingers probe and press, slipping one inside as Jason keens with misery and hopeless arousal. This is nothing like Faith, with her long nails and her rough manner… though Jason suspects there is plenty of rough in his future. No, these touches are gentle, teasing, soft, fitting for someone who has just awakened from a coma. There’s a smell of coconuts in the room, from the oil. 

Jason gasps as the finger finds his prostate. Vaas grins, and speeds up his strokes of Jason’s cock. All he can do is lie there and take it. He squeezes his eyes shut, full of loathing for himself rather than Vaas, praying for death, praying that this is a sick dream, praying for anything but the orgasm he can feel prickling in his loins.

He tries to think of something, anything, to kill his erection. Grant bleeding to death under his hands. Keith shying away from him. Riley squealing as he pressed down on his bullet wound. The agony as his left ring finger is severed. The stench of rot when passing a long-dead animal. The fear when crouching on a tin roof, preparing to leap down onto a heavily-armed pirate clad in fireproof padding, armed with nothing but a knife. The stale, dank air of the mines. Snarling dragons, their red saliva running from their stinking jaws, worse than even the leopards somehow. 

Even his mind betrays him. Faith grins at him from between his legs with her smeared red mouth. Liza moans beneath him, more for show than anything else – he never did manage to bring her to orgasm with his penis alone. Citra moves above him, the silky glide of her sex more divine than anything he’s ever felt. The odd cheerleader, shy girl and late-night drunk in a short skirt who he’d managed to talk into bed. Random hook-ups, always leaving him unsatisfied, even annoyed, with their meaninglessness.

He’s never been with a man, aside from rubbing penises some of the neighbourhood boys when he was preschool age. He groans again, unable to prevent his back arching. He’s looking at the ceiling, the walls, anything but Vaas. It’s taking some time, he’s been in a coma after all, but his forlorn hope that Vaas will get tired and give up is ebbing away. The pirate is showing no signs of tiring, still pumping his cock and probing with his left middle finger. Jason risks a look at Vaas’ face, not sure of his own expression, and sees the man staring at him intently, smiling faintly, breathing slightly uneven. 

He doesn’t know what finally sets him off, but his balls tighten and he squeezes his eyes shut, allowing the sensation to wash over him, not making a sound as he feels his semen spatter against his lower belly. 

There’s silence for a moment as he comes down. He feels the finger withdraw and his cock is released. He doesn’t open his eyes as he feels Vaas get off the bed and go to the bathroom to wash his hands. 

He can’t look when Vaas returns. He doesn’t want to know if the pirate has an erection. He’ll scream if he does.

He chokes back a sob when he feels facial hair tickling his skin, lips brushing his cheek. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Jason. It’s you and me now. Don’t worry, I’ll look after you. You’re mine. You’re my boy. I won’t let anyone touch you, or hurt you. Maybe I’ll show you how to be up high in the sky again, eh? But my way this time. Not her way, or your little California boy way. We’re going to have fun, you and me.” The presence withdraws. He can hear bare feet padding away. “You get some rest. I’ll check on you again soon.”

The door opens, closes, and the room is still. Jason lets go of the breath he didn’t know he was holding, and begins trembling all over. 

Failure. Betrayal. Humiliation. Fear. Loss. Futility. Grief. Dread.

He still can’t move, other than struggling to lie on one side.

He doesn’t know how to act. How to feel. What to think. His mind is empty with a powerful turbulence beneath, rising swiftly, without any coherent thoughts at all. 

Vaas didn’t clean him. His own seed is cooling on his belly, unpleasantly globular and heavy on his skin. He’s oozing oil from his rectum, sitting in a cold, sticky puddle.

He hasn’t even been restrained. 

He realises that as he was waking up in the bath, it never occurred to him for a second that he may have been rescued. 

Humiliation and Futility burst together, dully; a rupture rather than an explosion. Alone in the dirty medical room, Jason Brody cries miserably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've re-written this a dozen times and it's still not working for me, so I just posted what I had. The reason for Jason's meek compliance will become clearer in later chapters.


	3. Shadow

There is a woman. 

She arrives at the south island’s barracks on a boat with some other mercs – a very surprising sight, though too early to tell if it is a welcome one. From his deck chair on the edge of the clumsily-built wooden landing, Jason watches with mild interest. The sun has finally sunk behind the tall grey rock walls which ring the tiny hidden bay and the day’s soaking heat is no longer so oppressive. Wet season is nearly over.

The air smells of salt and wood and rubber and gasoline, along with the occasional sourness of an unwashed body when one of the privateers passes close behind him. He ignores them, and they him, only sparing him the occasional distrustful glance. There is a history there.

Jason is bored, but not agitated. Something about the Rook islands, or his recent experiences, has curbed his compulsion to seek constant activity and stimulation. He is tired of the south island, though. He wants to be back in his room on the tiny north-eastern island. Vaas received a call three days ago and now they are here for some kind of debriefing, or information exchange, or both. Jason is content to be kept in the dark these days. He may live longer. 

He supposes he should be happy that Vaas brought him along this time. For all intents and purposes, however, he finds his current environment as interesting as the bare walls of his room during his times of imprisonment. And yet the unconcerned haze in his mind has not been as present as once it was. 

He’s noticing more. He can smell the time of day in the air now. A privateer’s wary apprehension is only betrayed by a slight hitch in his step. He’s aware of the direction the wind is blowing when he feels it on his face. Knows how large a fire is by the wisp of smoke on the breeze. He’s taken to subconsciously counting the number of bodies in any given space. There’s an alertness, just under the surface, masked with apathy. 

He’s sure Vaas sees right through it. 

His captor took his leave some hours ago, leaving Jason with kisses and promises to return before dark. Jason sees no reason to move, guessing it is best to be somewhere he can easily be found when Vaas wants him. 

A merc steps in front of him to collect a jumble of screws and washers from a small box on the deck. Jason amuses himself by staring, hard, and the man – young, Hispanic, no older than Riley – fumbles in his nervousness. It’s certainly different here. To the pirates, he’s Vaas’ whore, a conquered would-be hero, tolerated only for the fear of Vaas’ ire should anything happen to his adored pet. To the privateers, however, he and Vaas have a more cooperative and even relationship, as if he were more of a trophy than a slave. His reputation as the man who skewered Hoyt, killed hundreds (thousands?) and destroyed the satellite system, gas stations and half the airport notwithstanding, it helps that the privateers are terrified of Vaas. They seem to have the opinion that any man who can stand being in the maniac’s company and his bed must have balls of steel, or is just as crazy. 

Jason glares from under his eyebrows as the recruit hurries away, then he smirks and settles back down to watch the water. He wishes Vaas would hurry up. He could really use a blow job.

He has just fallen into a doze, wincing at the feeling of stiff, sunburned skin on his chest and arms exposed by his wifebeater, when the rubber ducky arrives from the mouth of the cave which is the bay’s only passage by boat. Sitting on the broad deck, he has a clear view of all who come and go, and she is standing at the prow. She is dressed in black and yellow like the others, carrying a standard AK with a stern expression. 

She is attractive enough but not beautiful, Caucasian or close enough to it, with a thick-waisted stout body suggesting long years of cultivating muscle. Her hair is wiry and ginger-brown but her skin is tanned a light gold, and she squints in the sun’s refection until the boat passes into the shadow of the cliffs closer to Jason. Late thirties, perhaps, or a well-kept early forties. Ex-army, Jason guesses, moved into this line of work for the pay, probably knows one of the other high-up mercs who put in a good word for her. Unlikely that she has anyone waiting at home for her, no husband or lover or children. 

The duckie slows near the deck and she begins to gather her belongings. There are five other mercs in the boat, deliberately not looking at her. Perhaps she already commands some sort of respect; through reputation or association. The only other women Jason has seen in recent months are local prostitutes who dance and entertain Vaas’ men to loud music, sometimes performing lewd acts on one another, at other times sitting on the faces of the pirates in full view of the others while they cheer and throw coins. From the wire-covered window of his concrete box Jason has seen Vaas in the courtyard during these proceedings, leaning against a doorway or sitting in a chair, often holding a bottle or a glass pipe, watching and laughing. 

He’s never seen Vaas take part, though, or give any indication that he may. Jason is not sure how he would feel if he ever did. 

The woman gives Jason a sidelong appraising glance – he is not dressed in uniform like the others, and looks for all the world like a man taking a break on his porch at the end of a long summer day – as she drags her weapon and duffle bag onto the deck several paces away from Jason, standing with perfect posture to await further instructions. Yes, definitely military of some kind. 

As the others line up with her Jason tilts his head to see, staring unashamedly. Her face is rounded with high cheekbones, thick but neat eyebrows, the skin clean and unblemished. The lips are full and the nose is broad – she has some mixed ancestry. Her eyes dart to the side and she sees him staring. She glares, before the lieutenant arrives and gives them directions to their temporary quarters. 

The snarl in his ear makes him jump. “Checking out the new bitch? Hmm? Sizing her up, Jason?” A hand grips his sunburned shoulder, too tightly. “What, you want to fuck her? She looks old enough to be your mama. So that doesn’t bother you, no? Is that it? Not many girls around this side. You miss fucking cunts so much you’ll take whatever you can get? Hmm? You really thinking of sticking your prick into that one?”

Jason’s heart begins to pound with a satisfying gush of adrenaline as he turns to look into furious bird of prey eyes, Vaas squatting right beside him. Jason thinks how the man can move like a spectre when he wants to – he never heard him approach. Thinking only to placate, he reaches out and strokes the side of the pirate’s head with the back of his hand. He thanks whatever gods are watching that Vaas allows his face to be drawn closer so Jason can kiss him. He risks a peek and sees Vaas’ soot-rimmed eyes are still locked onto the retreating figures, cold and suspicious. Other mercs close by have turned away at the sight of them, either in embarrassment or disgust. Overt homosexual behaviour, even the rapey kind, is uncommon in this boys’ club.

Amused, Jason licks into the other man’s mouth, opening his mouth wide without kissing to make sure his squirming tongue can be seen, tracing the back of Vaas’ teeth.

“Can we go home tomorrow?” he asks, pulling away but continuing to rub his knuckles against the fuzz on the side of Vaas’ skull. He feels the relief of a cooling mist as his legs catch some of a propeller’s spray. His lips tingle from the kiss, there is a pleasant buzz in his groin, and his body is tense with anticipation. 

It is the right thing to say. The pirate’s expression softens and he smiles. 

“Whatever my boy wants,” he says fondly, and kisses him again. 

It turns out that Vaas’ jealousy is a terrifying thing.


	4. Choice

Vaas taps the steering wheel and sings along with whatever garish tune is playing on the radio. He drives like he does everything else – reckless and reactive, as if in some kind of purposeless freefall. He wrenches the wheel, spinning them around corners on what feels like two wheels, then drifting into corners sideways so close to the precipices that Jason can only see the depth beside them, as if they were flying over it already. Fear sits on him heavily and he tries to keep his face blank, allowing stabs of fright to pass through him like ghosts, prickling his skin and causing tremours through his core. It has been his way, of late, and it’s not unwelcome. Fear is one of the few emotions he can feel nowadays.

Vaas alternates between singing and chattering as he takes them up the mountain. Jason prefers the singing. Vaas can hold a tune. 

“I see it all the time, man. People see someone in trouble, they go to help, you know? But you know when someone’s in trouble and there’s a group of people? They ignore it, man. Isn’t that weird? Everyone always thinks someone else will take care of it. Unless they’re alone, then they’ve gotta deal with it, you know? When we catch people, put them in cages, man, they sell each other out like you wouldn’t fucking believe. People are so happy to be led around. No one gives a shit about anything except that tomorrow is pretty much the same as today. People just accept that someone’s in charge, and they don’t give a shit, not a single fucking shit, as long as their belly is full and they have nice insignificant shit to worry and complain about. People love complaining, you notice that? You got a guy, big house, nice cars, full of toys and expensive shit, and all he does is two things – bragging about his stuff, and complaining about his stuff. Here’s my incredible car, but I have to be so careful with it and keep it clean and it costs so much for the insurance! Well why’d you buy the fucking thing, you dumb fuck!” Vaas crows with laughter.

“Where are we going?” Jason’s voice is raspy from disuse, or fear, or both. 

He is half afraid that Vaas will take exception to the change of subject. The pirate merely gives him an appraising look, until Jason wants to scream at him to watch the road, then the hawk eyes drift back to the windscreen as if it is of no real importance. He has slowed down now, and the twists and turns in the road are getting sharper.

“Well, I’ve been worried about you, man. You’ve gone quiet. You’re in a fucking well or something. Gotta bring you back up a bit. You ever heard about the experiment with the dogs?” 

Jason barely registers the question. There’s a weariness in his bones and he just doesn’t want to do this. “You mean Pavlov’s dogs?”

“No, not that one. Listen.” There’s a sudden sharpness to his tone, the voice raised a few decibels. “They put the dogs in a box, right? Then they electrified the floor, zap-zap-zap.” He flicks his fingers rapidly, and Jason thinks of butterflies. “At first the dogs were running around, yelping, trying to get out, you know? After a while, they stopped. They just sat there, being shocked. Then you know what they did?” 

Jason is silent.

“They opened the door. Wide open. Then they kept shocking the dogs. Know what happened? Eh?” 

A response is required. “No.”

“They stayed there. Didn’t move. Escape route right fucking there, but the dogs, man, they just sat there whining.”

Silence for a second, then a new song comes on the radio and Vaas starts singing again. 

Jason doesn’t quite understand the point Vaas is making, or how he knows anything about Pavlov or anyone else; nor does he see why Vaas is attempting to address Jason’s bland affect. 

He is never going home. He is at the mercy of Vaas’ whims, kept locked in their shared room unless Vaas chooses to let him out. He has not even attempted an escape. With Citra gone, there is no one to help him regardless of motive, nowhere for him to hide. He doubts Dennis would be happy to see him – heck, he’s probably safer with Vaas. 

So he does as he’s told. He doesn’t fight. He eats what he’s given. Sits in his room, often alone for days, sometimes doing push-ups and sit-ups to pass the time. 

The sex is getting easier too. Rather than bury his face in the musty bare mattress, fighting nausea and weeping with humiliation and pain, he now obediently rolls onto his stomach and tries to play songs in his mind. Much to Vaas’ delight, Jason’s fickle body continues to respond, no matter how much he would rather deny himself. The other man encourages him with soft touches and kisses, and more besides. Never in his entire life has Jason had a partner so generous with oral sex.

When it’s over, Vaas likes to snuggle close, stroking and kissing. Jason can even find some consolation in the presence of the body against his as he drifts into a thin sleep, head on the other man’s shoulder, feeling soft puffs of breath against his forehead. 

The next morning he wakes and Vaas is almost always gone. And the day starts again, just like the last one. He’s found a kind of a balance, in this dead vacuum of his absurd parody of a life, and he doesn’t want anyone tampering with it. He doesn’t understand Vaas’ strange affections, but accepts that he is never leaving the island alive and this man is the last sex partner he will ever have. It’s certainly not how he guessed his life would end, but his psychotic and drug-addled rapist likes to give pleasure as well as take, and he can only take a crumb of comfort from the fact that his tormentor likes to treat him as a lover rather than a bitch. 

It’s another way he is being broken. Jason isn’t stupid or lonely enough to think otherwise.

He stares now at the side of Vaas’ smooth-skinned face, dread starting to settle in the increasingly-concave hollow of his stomach. 

What the fuck is Vaas going to do to him? 

They pull up at the top of the hill. The afternoon is dry and warm but not oppressively so, and the view is spectacular. A communications tower looms above them, creaking lowly in the light breeze. The view would be even better up there, but Jason knows it. He’s climbed it. He’s climbed them all. 

He stays put as Vaas gets out of the jeep and goes to one of the tower’s legs. There are some lengths of thick chain piled at the base. He picks up a length and finds a blunt metal hook on one end. He fastens it to the tower leg, yanking the chain to see if it holds. He seems pleased, and jogs to the rocky edge of the cliff face. Jason thinks he remembers it – there used to be a hang glider set up there. Vaas throws the end of the chain over the edge of the cliff, and goes back to the tower leg to retrieve a second length of chain. He passes by the jeep to a small shed nearby and hooks the chain around a knot in the doorway. He threads the second length over the cliff as well, then picks up one length in each hand and leans backward close to the edge, testing the angle and stability. 

Whatever his intensions are, his handiwork meets with approval. He drops the chains and returns to the jeep, gesturing at Jason to get out.

“Strip,” he orders. Fuck. 

Jason stares at him for a moment. Vaas is pulling off his own shirt. Bad, bad, very bad.

“Did I fucking stutter?” he snaps. “Strip. Everything.” 

Slowly, Jason complies, pulling off his boots first and then his shirt. Vaas is naked but for his jewellery, colourful beads hanging on leather straps between dark brown nipples, and he stands angling his face to the sun in contentment. He wears nudity with the same confidence as he does clothes, as if he always belongs exactly where he is. 

Jason removes his tattered jeans and drops them in a pile. Vaas presses him against the jeep, nuzzling his cheek. Jason can feel the other man’s warm cock twitch against his own. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, barely keeping the tremour out of his voice.

He feels teeth against his cheek as Vaas grins. “You’ll see, _hermano_ ,” he whispers, and starts pressing open-mouthed kisses against Jason’s face, gripping his hips to rut gently against him. Jason is suddenly so terrified it’s all he can do to not flail and scream, and manages to suppress a wince when Vaas reaches to grip his jaw and turns his face toward him, kissing him sloppily on the mouth. He feels the other man reach over his shoulder into the back seat of the jeep, where he hears the snap of a lid. 

He expects the drizzle of the warm coconut oil, but sill flinches as he feels it poured down his lower back, pooling between his skin and the vehicle. Vaas’ hand is immediately between his buttocks, probing. Helpless, Jason breaks the kiss and lowers his head to the pirate’s shoulder. His throat is closing up and it’s taking all of his will not to let out a sob… if he allows it to start, he won’t be able to stop. Two fingers. Tight, stretching, slightly uncomfortable but not painful. He keeps his arms stiff by his sides. Vaas’ digits slide in and out, scissoring, curling, holding Jason against him with his other arm around his shoulders. 

The pirate takes his time, preparing him thoroughly. The two of them stand together naked under the sun, chest to chest and belly to belly. It’s an intense experience, intimate, frightening. Vaas’ cock is digging into his hip now, and Jason’s isn’t completely flagging either. He can’t help it, not with Vaas tickling his p-spot. The glide of the fingers is delicious against his most sensitive muscles, and he’s aware that his breathing is heavy. 

When Vaas can move three fingers inside Jason easily, he withdraws with a smile and presses another kiss to Jason’s mouth. He steps back, giving his erection a few tugs and smearing it with oil, and beckons. Hesitantly, Jason follows him toward the cliff face.

Vaas isn’t going to just push him over the edge. No way will anything ever be that simple. Whatever is coming, it won’t be quick.

“Stand there, feet apart,” Vaas commands, pointing to the smooth rock at the very edge. Jason does so dumbly, standing nude at what seems to be the edge of the world with his toes curling over the rim. The rock falls away to a sheer cliff face that disappears into a hollow undercut, a gully of jungle plants far beneath. It continues to the plains, hazy distant rivers threading across the green. He hears the soft rush of water, feels the breeze on his pale skin, smells the crisp clean scent of unpollinated air across rock at relatively high altitude. It’s like fresh laundry, with a hint of ozone. Wet season is not far off.

There are no tears on his face. He feels only relief now. Here is where he will die, and that’s okay. He feels a surge of love for everything that’s beautiful about the island, for everything that is part of it – it’s feral, dangerous in the most original and primal sense of the word, uncaring, ancient. If he is to be part of it, if his flesh and blood and bones are to be laid here, then he cannot complain. 

Vaas’ arms are around him, sticky fingers stroking his semi-hard penis. Jason turns his head, feeling Vaas’ forehead against his temple. The man himself smells like the jungle, of earth and cave rocks and damp flowers. 

Jason allows himself to feel a slight trace of morbid appreciation that at least he’s had his dick fondled a moment before his death. He sighs, and lets himself enjoy the touch. It’s okay. Everything is okay now.

A kiss under his ear, then the warmth at Jason’s back disappears and he hears the clink of metal. His wrists are nudged with something cold. Confused, not wanting to disturb his tranquil reverie and not daring to turn around, he opens his palms and Vaas presses a length of chain into each hand. 

“Hold on real tight and keep your knees locked,” says Vaas, and gives him a shove between the shoulder blades.

Jason’s feet remain where they are, but Vaas left some play in the chain. Jason pitches forward and cries out in panic as the chains snap taut, pinning his own arms back painfully as he dangles over the edge at a twenty-five degree angle like some kind of pathetic sacrifice. 

He’s stuck, completely. He hasn’t the strength in his arms to pull himself backward, and he doesn’t dare let go of either of the chains. His breath is rapid and harsh in his throat, his heartbeat smashes in his chest and sweat starts to drip. What the fuck is going on?

He begins to bend his knees, trying to scuttle backwards, anything to get himself back to the edge of the cliff, until he feels toes against his heels. “Keep holding on, Snow White,” says Vaas and suddenly the pressure in his shoulders increases drastically as the other man leans over him, putting his full weight against Jason’s back and – _fuck_ – lining the head of his cock to Jason’s hole. 

“What are you doing? Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck are you doing?” Jason shrieks as the pirate sinks into him awkwardly. Vaas is not completely hard and it hurts in spite of the preparation, but he barely notices. 

“More than one way to make a warrior, Jason,” Vaas hisses in his right ear. “Though not that many when you think about it. Now you just do what you gotta do.” He wraps his arms around Jason and starts to move, bending his knees and spreading his legs wide, thrusting upwards in shallow jerky movements due to the lack of maneuverability of their position. 

Jason’s shoulders are on fire. He grips the chains tight, so tight, and Vaas’ weight on him is so much worse than when he was only holding his own. Every sense is dialed up to 11, his biceps are already cramping, his fingers and wrists are twisted painfully against the metal and his toes are clinging to the edge for dear life…

…and fuck, is he still hard? 

His erection is grotesquely swollen like that of a hanged man. The shoving and grunting behind him, the packed sensation as his arse is plugged with cock and the feeling of Vaas’ sweaty body slipping against his own, life completely dependent on Jason’s ability to hold on, is sending shivers through his lower body. All thought of death gone and oblivious to the choice he has been offered, he whimpers, willing his palms not to become slick. The breeze whispers secrets across his skin and he can see distant clouds in the too-blue sky, wispy like a spurt of fresh semen underwater. The insects’ pre-evening chirping and buzzing is a susurrus in his ears. The tower creaks above them like an ancient beast and he can almost hear the distant sigh of the sea as well as the babble of the rivers and rustling of the plants so far below. 

He swears he can see the curvature of the earth.

He swears he can _hear_ the sunlight.

He has never been so aware of his surroundings in his entire life. 

The pain is becoming intolerable, clawing through his shoulders with every one of Vaas’ thrusts, when the pirate’s hand moves downward to grip him again. The other man’s breathing is ragged, whether through lust or fear due to this incredible position he’s put them both in, Jason does not know. He groans through gritted teeth as Vaas begins to rub his cock. He can’t take much more of this. 

The powerful hand is ceaseless in its stokes and through the grunts he hears “scream, Jason, man, scream for me, scream for the island, we all gotta hear it, I’m giving it to you, you gotta stake your claim man,” and he does, amazingly quickly, throwing back his head as the pain in his wrists and shoulders and backside and strong hand on his cock and lips against his ear melt into one hypersensitive stimulant and it’s too much, far too much, and he shrieks as the dam bursts and he releases his opalescence into the air, over the cliff’s edge, over the island, even as the man behind him shoves up into him one final time and releases a howl of his own as he empties the contents of his testes into Jason’s body. 

He risks opening his eyes. Colour slowly returns to the world. Heat and breath and sweat. Pain, so much of it. Jungle and rock and plain and sky as far as he can see. Arms around him, a face pressed into the side of his neck. Vaas’ necklaces digging into his back. The relief as the pirate finds his footing, penis sliding from Jason’s body. He creeps carefully backwards and pulls on the chains, gently drawing Jason back from the edge until he collapses onto his side, shaking all over. The relief is short-lived as cramps bite his injured shoulders and his arms feel as if they have been stretched, muscles torn and frayed. Vaas kneels beside him, stroking his back. 

Kisses, over his shoulder and cheek and neck and jaw, but whether to console or claim he doesn’t know. It’s too hot, the salty bronze skin and moist breath, and he wants to pull away and maybe even land a punch or two, but he can barely focus on his breathing. He can’t even summon the strength to scream, or cry. His pulse feels unsteady. Jason doesn’t understand _why_ , what the almighty fuck this was all for, but he’s in no state to ask as Vaas gently tugs him to his feet.

They walk slowly back to the jeep, naked, side by side, Jason leaning on his tormentor. He is numb, faded and transparent, and all sounds are too loud. The growl of a feline creature some distance away may as well be right against his ear. The chirp of insects is cacophonous. The crunch of stray leaves and dead grass underfoot is like sandpaper rasping over his very eardrums. His head is full of too much blood, or not enough. His thighs are slick with what he hopes is just oil and semen. He walks into the jeep without seeing it, startling himself. His ears are ringing with the noise of the jungle, and it’s too sharp and bright. Vaas catches him by the shoulder, putting his arms around Jason to hold him upright against the jeep. The buzz of insects becomes a high pitched whine in Jason’s ears. Vaas is close, far too close, enough for Jason to see the flecks of gold and brown in amber irises, grime and soot ground into the tiny wrinkles around the outer corners of his eyes, cracked skin flaking away from one side of his bottom lip, healing cuts from careless shaving around his goatee, crusts of dried blood around his nostrils. 

Vaas’ mouth is moving but the insects in Jason’s head are far too loud. Blackness creeps in from the edges of his vision, and oh, he doesn’t want this, none of this, any more. The pirate’s arms tighten around him as his legs give way. He doesn’t notice when the noise stops.


	5. Respect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaas takes Jason on a date. It goes about as well as you'd expect a date with Vaas to go.

For the most part, the other pirates ignore Jason. He is Vaas’ darling pet, and they are too afraid of their leader to make any trouble – and broken as Jason is, he likes to think they have probably not forgotten what he is capable of. He does not receive any retribution for the men he killed during his ‘rampage’. The pirates are in a dangerous line of work, and it seems to be accepted that friendships are fleeting at best. There is one, however who seems to hold a grudge. 

Luis is enormous, a huge bull of a man with a shorn scalp and heavy scarring down one side of his body, apparently from flame. His ancestry seems mixed, like many of the men – Luis seems to have a smattering of middle Eastern, south American, Polynesian and perhaps eastern African. His eyes are dark with promise and follow Jason whenever they are in the same room, which is rarely. Vaas keeps them apart, as if he is aware of Luis’ ire. 

Vaas himself seems wary of the man. He keeps Luis away as much as possible, giving him tasks to perform in dangerous areas; out on the ocean, in areas with heavy populations of tiger and bear, and even down the mines. Luis always returns, though. Sometimes he departs with a company of a dozen men and returns alone. Jason doesn’t ask why. He assumes the pirates are busy reclaiming the Rakyat outposts, and their efforts are not always successful. 

It’s hot, stifling so. Jason’s hair has grown long and hangs in his eyes and down the back of his neck. Now that it’s wet season, his hair drips with sweat. The mosquitoes keep him awake at night in spite of the netting nailed to the wall over the bed, and he struggles to breathe the oppressive humidity of the air. The regular rain provides barely any relief and turns the courtyard into a mud slop. At night Vaas wets towels and drapes them over them both so they can sleep. Jason often gets up in the night and pours water over the back of his neck. It’s as if he is living in a constant state of fever, and he can barely stand it. 

Vaas usually fucks him from behind these days, avoiding too much stifling skin contact. “It won’t last too much longer,” he promises one night, legs spread wide as he squats at Jason’s backside, panting before he withdraws. Jason has come, too, like he usually does, and he sinks onto the cooling sprinkle of dampness with a contented sigh. He hasn’t spoken a word for nearly a week. Too fucking hot. It rains later that night, bringing a brief but welcome coolness, and Jason goes to stand at the window, feeling light spray on his face. He threads his fingers through the chicken wire and presses against it, wishing he could stand in the rain. 

Vaas is a light sleeper, and always wakes when Jason moves. He feels a hand on his shoulder and reluctantly allows the pirate to lead him back to bed, where Vaas takes him into his mouth and sucks him for the next half an hour. He grips the base of the cock firmly, until Jason is over stimulated and wailing for permission to come, heedless of whoever can hear them. Vaas relents and strokes Jason until he releases over his own stomach, then sits up and flogs his own cock to add his semen to the mix. He leans down and cleans Jason with his tongue, tasting their combined fluids, blowing across the wet skin to cool him and finishing with kisses pressed over chest and neck, by which time Jason has started to doze. 

Jason had assumed Vaas’ earlier generosity as a sex partner was an affectation to reduce his resistance, but his captor has kept it up and remains liberal in delivering oral sex and thorough foreplay, as if he enjoys keeping his catamite sexually satisfied. Jason thinks he has had more orgasms in the last months than he has had in his entire life. He had suspected that Vaas continues the practice so that Jason remains contented and complicit, but some of his actions – such as his penchant for kissing, post-coital cuddling and frequently using his mouth on Jason’s anus and genitals – seem to suggest that Vaas is genuinely happy to provide pleasure as well as take it. 

Jason knows he should not complain, although sometimes he feels a ripple of terror when he realizes he is looking forward to the evenings, waiting for Vaas’ arrival so they can eat, wash and go to bed together. 

He suspects he is being conditioned to associate Vaas with sexual fulfillment. Or, more likely, perhaps he is so starved of affection he is happy to accept it from his kidnapper and rapist. His periods of enforced isolation have been difficult to bear, though he has not had to endure one for a little while now.

He wonders, not for the first time, if he has become too accepting of his situation, that he is finding a grim contentment in his debasement. It’s a fitting punishment for his many failures.

He shuts away these thoughts and tries not to wonder too much. There is no point in over-examining the motivations for his thoughts, feelings and even actions. He does not have to justify himself to anyone, not any more, not like this. Not even himself. 

There’s no point in feeling any kind of guilt that lately he has been finding pleasure in sex with his captor, that he feels a prickle when the man walks through the door, that a mere fondle to his crotch has him hard and groaning, and that the sensation of Vaas’ well-lubricated penis sliding smoothly in and out of his body now has him mewing and rubbing himself against the mattress, or Vaas’ tight belly when they fuck face-to-face. Or that Vaas knows it. 

There is no reason any more. There just _is_. 

The next day Jason wakes up alone and, as usual, remains locked in their room. He’s a bit more active lately and tries doing sit-ups for a while, admiring the increasing tone of his abdominal muscles shining with sweat, but it is too hot to persevere. He amuses himself by watching the movements of Vaas’ men through the courtyard, splashing through the mud and complaining about the heat and muck. 

A cargo truck arrives in the afternoon and men emerge and start to unload spoils – weapons, crates of ammunition, bricks of water, boxes of tinned food, and two local prostitutes in bikinis, wilted in the heat. Jason admires them, smiling softly. How he misses fondling plump breasts.

The driver gets out and stretches his massive body gratefully, as if he has been behind the wheel all morning. It’s Luis.

Vaas arrives from a nearby doorway, exhaling thin white smoke and clearly wanting some kind of report. Luis’ manner is dismissive and Vaas is clearly agitated. Jason can’t hear them, but he knows Vaas’ body language well enough. Vaas is trying not to get angry as he presses for more information. 

Jason wonders why he doesn’t just shoot him. Perhaps Luis knows something Vaas doesn’t know, or the man is just too valuable to lose. He can usually be found clad in heavy padding and helmet, with a flamethrower as his choice of weapon. Perhaps he finds a perverse satisfaction in wielding fire, considering his burns. Today, though, it’s clearly too hot for all that, and Luis is wearing a black wifebeater that stretches across his colossal shoulders, and dull red cargo pants. 

Jason realizes he is watching Vaas, not Luis. The man has a languid grace about him even when he’s angry, tireless and predatory, like the tigers he hates so much. He cocks his head to the side like a feral thing, grinding his teeth in frustration, showing the poised length of his neck and the clean scoop of clavicle swelling to a smooth bronze shoulder, ropy with lean muscle.

Fuck. Has it gone this far? Jason shakes his head and sinks to the ground to do a hundred push-ups. He feels sick and light-headed afterwards, but the feeling of atonement is sound. 

In the evening Vaas shoves his way into the room. 

“We’re going out,” he snaps. 

“Huh? Where?” Jason asks without thinking. 

Vaas glares. “Out, okay? Fucking out. Put on something pretty.” He rakes his hand through his messy Mohawk and scratches above the cloth tied around his upper arm distractedly. His pupils are blown wide open, thinly ringed with gold. 

High as fucking balls. Best not to get him worked up.

Jason obeys, washing quickly in the bathroom sink and pulling on some of his cleaner cargo pants, a blue sleeveless vest, and boots without socks and ventilation holes slashed through the sides and top. There’s no mirror, so he quickly soaps up and rakes a blunt razor over his face by feel, then runs his fingers through his sweaty hair and ties it back with a length of twine. Perhaps he’d be better off allowing it to matt into dreadlocks.

He makes a tiny show of defiance, presenting himself to Vaas with arms outstretched and eyebrows raised slightly. Vaas actually smiles and pulls him close for a kiss. 

“Stay close to me tonight, _hermano_ ,” he murmurs against Jason’s mouth. “You’re with me, okay? You’ll be all right, long as you stay close.” Another kiss, and another. Jason rests his hands on Vaas’ hips, opening his mouth to allow the probing tongue. Vaas’ arms are around him, one hand on the small of his back and another on his neck as they roll their hips together slowly. 

Vaas breaks away, exhaling unevenly. “Whoa. Time for that later, Jason.” One more kiss, chaste and quick. “I’ll make you feel real good when we get back.” He turns to leave and Jason follows, trembling with sexual tension, shame and anticipation of the night ahead. 

They take a patrol boat across the channel to the north island, in a group of perhaps twenty. The pirates chuckle and joke together in several different languages, but their manner is oddly apprehensive. Vaas is mostly silent and stands with him at the stern. He keeps a hand on Jason at all times; clutching his wrist, a touch between his shoulder blades, or standing against Jason’s back with an arm protectively around his middle. The man’s behaviour is unusual, and his unease is affecting Jason. He’s sweating profusely, and it’s not just the heat. He has no idea what is going on, he’s totally dependent, and he hates it.

He wishes Vaas were more in the habit of explaining his actions. He tries to make a show of trust, pressing his back into the other man and arching his back slightly in a silent reminder of Vaas’ promise for when they return. 

The boat hits a wave and his backside grinds into Vaas’ crotch lewdly. The arm tightens around him. 

About ten other pirates await them at the shore when they dismount at the mouth of a small river, Vaas clutching the back of Jason’s shirt in his fist. Jason can see why, now – Luis is with the greeting party. He leers unpleasantly, eyes shining with intent in the fading orange light.

“Let’s go,” Vaas barks, and Jason sees several zodiac boats waiting. The men pile in, Vaas seating Jason on his lap, and they take off up the river.

It turns out their destination is Badtown. They dismount a short distance away when the river slows to a shallow trickle and move as a group with Vaas and Jason in the middle, their movements wary – Jason recalls that tigers usually lurk close by, and dusk is a bad time to be messing about. 

The atmosphere changes abruptly when they arrive at the shantytown. “All right, go, play, have fun!” Vaas crows, and the men quickly dissipate happily, most moving toward the brothel.

Vaas takes Jason’s wrist and leads him toward a large shack. It turns out this is the pub – there is a bar, tables and stools, some mismatched torn armchairs, electric lighting overhead, a small radio tuned to a recent hits station, a pool table with torn felt and even a rudimentary air cooler, consisting of several bags of ice on a clotheshorse with a fan blowing behind it. 

Vaas thumps the bar and orders for the room. A few pirates arrive behind them and there are perhaps ten locals present, not counting the two or three already passed out in the corners of the room. 

As evenings go, it’s not bad. Vaas gives Jason a handful of change and they play poker with a local and another pirate, and Jason wins. Vaas laughs and kisses him sloppily in front of everyone, then downs three vodka shots in a row with a beer chaser. He stands up and spins Jason around the room playfully to a barely-audible reggae song. He plays pool, smoking a foul cigar and standing with an arm around Jason’s waist affectionately, chatting and laughing. More pirates and locals arrive and soon the pub is quite full. The radio is playing a pop song now under the chatter and more ice is added to the clotheshorse. 

It’s actually quite pleasant. It’s Jason’s kind of evening.

As Vaas plays pool he seems on his way to being drunk, but as Jason leans against him sipping his own beer he notices the other man is standing quite steady. He can’t shake the feeling that Vaas is waiting for something.

Heavy footsteps behind them, and Vaas goes stiff even as he continues to chalk his cue. He pauses for a moment.

“Eh, you win,” he says dismissively. He throws a handful of coins on the table. “Can’t see straight enough, man.” 

Vaas’ pirate opponent, young and fine-boned, has had enough to be foolhardy. He slurs something in Spanish and Vaas gives him a look. Jason’s eyes dart to one side and sees Luis standing a few feet length away, arms crossed. 

“What?” says Vaas dangerously. 

The pretty young man tries to recover. “Just joking, boss,” he says, smiling frantically, hands up. 

“What, you disrespecting me?” Vaas throws his cigar onto the pool table, shoves his cue against Jason’s chest and steps forward. The bar goes completely silent but for the tinkling of Taylor Swift on the radio, ridiculous in the tension of the room. “You got something to say to me, you little fuck?” 

Terrified, the little pirate backs away. “No, Vaas, honest. Let me get you a drink.”

“You fucking with me?” Vaas shoves him, hard, and he goes down. “I give you a fucking job, I bring you on a night out with me and my boy,” gesturing to Jason, “and my boys,” gesturing to the other pirates, “I give you drink and smoke and blow and bitches, and you fucking give shit to me?” 

He kicks out, hard, and the young man scuttles away on his arse. He stutters a stream of Spanish, forgetting English in his panic. Vaas snatches a cracked tumbler glass from a nearby table and dashes it to the ground next to the boy, where it explodes next to his shoulder.

His stammering pleas are useless. He’s doomed. Vaas fists his shirt in his left hand and jerks him up from the floor, bringing his right fist down into the boy’s face as he does so. The nose sprays blood and the young man wails. Vaas jerks him face-to-face, screaming in Spanish, and drops him.

The boy is not too proud to run. He flips himself over onto his stomach and manages to stand, then half-runs, half-falls toward the doorway, blubbering and bleeding. Vaas follows, straight-backed and full of purpose, and they’re gone into the darkness.

Gone. Vaas is gone. He’s alone. Shit.

A second’s silence, and the chatter in the room resumes. No one is stupid enough to go to the young man’s aid. Jason stands still, staring down at the pool table where Vaas’ cigar is burning a hole. It doesn’t matter. There are more holes than felt. 

He hasn’t been alone yet, not with the pirates, not without Vaas. He desperately hopes it won’t matter. Vaas’ little display of aggression – 90% of which was definitely for show – is a good reminder that he is the king around here. Jason is Vaas’ boy. He’s protected. Untouchable.

To most, anyway. Jason feels rather than sees Luis moving toward him. The man displaces a lot of air when he walks. Jason keeps still, pretends to appraise the table, keeping hold on his pool cue

_(pool cue pool balls guy just over there has a knife in his belt that other guy has a handgun whisky tumbler on the table behind me beer bottle on the side of the table)_

tightly, feeling oddly calm and keeping his face in its usual blank stare. 

Luis presses up against his back softly. His breath is against Jason’s neck, foetid and moist, foul with beer and cigarettes and rotting teeth. The man is hot even in the stifling air of the pub, radiating warmth from his skin. Jason feels a harsh tug on the back of his head as Luis pulls his hair free of its tie, grabbing a hunk of lank brown strands and – oh God – inhaling deeply. 

The atmosphere of the bar tenses again. The chatter dies down but doesn’t quite stop. 

No one will intervene. No one is going to help him.

“You know what I heard?” The accent is thick, indeterminable. The voice is also thick and slow, as if speaking with a bloated tongue. Jason gives no response.

“I heard you love being Vaas’ cunt. I heard you keep these guys up all night with your squealing.” Push of broad nose against white neck through his hair. Luis is easily a head taller than Jason but he is stooped forward, nuzzling him. His arm comes to rest on the table by Jason’s side. His beer gut is against Jason’s back, but there is a wall of muscle behind the fat. His red-brown forearm is twice the size of Jason’s, the hand a big meaty paddle with thick, black-furred fingers and filthy broken nails. His fists must be unstoppable. 

“Do you like it when he fucks you? Hmm?”

Jason risks a sideways glance. The pirates at the poker table nearby are watching. One looks nervous, two look horrified. There is a large hunting knife on the table. Good to know.

Luis pushes his hips forward and Jason is ground against the pool table. “I said,” he growls against Jason’s ear, goatee tickling, “do you like it when he fucks you?”

Silence won’t work. “What do you want, Luis?” No tremble in his voice. Good. 

A hand, running up the back of his right arm. “You killed my cousin, white boy. He was stationed at the dope fields. You blew them up, burned them down. You burned _him_. Do you even remember?” He pinches Jason’s arm tightly, painfully. “So… I don’t see why it’s just Vaas that gets to keep you.” His voice slows to a purr. “I also don’t really see how your being here is a fucking punishment. Not if you love his dick.” He rubs his hips lewdly against Jason’s arse. “I been watching you, boy. Vaas tries to send me away, but I keep coming back.”

“I killed dozens of men that day. I don’t remember your cousin.” Staring straight ahead. Flat, emotionless. “And Vaas doesn’t share.”

“He’s not going to share.” A harder press, and Jason can feel _it_ now. He’s half-aroused, more with power and revenge than lust. “I got a top deal going on, boy. Vaas knows. We’ve been… negotiating. And my price is you.”

A spike of fear, now. Would Vaas trade him? The bastard can be completely unpredictable. He makes the mistake of swallowing, and Luis notices. He feels a grin against the back of his neck, and another press of the hips. 

Did Luis just say Vaas keeps sending him away? Jason tries to focus on that. He remembers Vaas’ agitation this morning. Luis has said nothing about anything being finalized. Jason’s eyes flit to the table. Two pool balls are within easy reach.

“Must be a good deal,” he manages through gritted teeth. Where the fuck is Vaas? How long does it take to beat someone to death?

A slow nod. Luis shifts slightly so his lips are against Jason’s ear again. “Real good. It’s worth ten white boys. But are _you_ worth ten white boys, hmm? Is your back pussy that good?” A chuckle. “Vaas, he seems to think so. He can’t keep his hands off you, can he? So – ” a hand reaches down to grasp a firm cheek – “I think I should get a better price, really. For Vaas’ leftovers. You’re probably dribbling his jizz right now.” 

The pressure on his body eases slightly as Luis leans back to slip a hand down the back of Jason’s pants to test this hypothesis, and Jason snaps. 

He keeps the pool cue in the crook of his left arm as he snatches the two balls from the table with his right hand, and whips around as quickly as he can. He’s judged the angle perfectly, and the balls slam into Luis’ temple with an unimpressive thud. 

He grunts a comical oof, knocked off guard, and Jason does not allow him to recover. He drops the balls and reaches across his body to the beer bottle beside him. He slips a finger into the next of the bottle and brings it across sharply, into Luis’ other temple. It shatters and he goes down on one knee. 

_(not nearly hard enough he’s close he’s too close gotta get away gotta keep him down don’t let him get back up he’ll fucking kill me if he gets back up gotta finish this real quick just keep him down beat him kill him kill him kill him)_

The bottle has broken at the neck and Jason is wearing a tubular ring of sharp glass. He swipes across Luis’ forehead as the man looks up, still too shocked to be enraged, and the blood begins to seep into his eyes. Jason kicks out with both feet, hard, bracing himself against the pool table, catching Luis in the throat with a boot and sending the enormous man onto his back. 

Luis’ head has only just smacked against the wooden boards when Jason swings the thick end of the pool cue towards his face. The cheap stick snaps, of course, across the side of the enormous head, barely causing a blink and leaving Jason with a three-foot length of broken stick. It gives Luis enough time to realize what the fuck has just happened, and he rolls onto his side with a roar. 

_(fuck fuck he’s getting up oh fuck where’s Vaas I need a fucking gun I can’t take him on there isn’t anything here just a knife would do I can’t get to the poker table he’ll grab me oh shit shit shit)_

His second of indecision has cost him dearly. Luis is on his feet, swaying and snorting through the blood running down his face, gnashing his teeth at Jason in a blind frenzy. 

“You fuck!” he bellows, and lunges. 

It’s all Jason needs. 

He stands his ground, hoping against hope in the fraction of a second he has to think that Luis will use his whole body weight, and the giant does just that. Arms wide, he leaps at Jason, who braces himself against the pool table, brings his arms over his head and bends his knees sharply, sinking down and angling his body to the left.

Luis catches the splintered end of the broken pool cue in his throat as his inescapable forward momentum carries him against the pool table. Jason slips his fists apart, bracing the length of the flimsy stick, and allows the chalk end to scrape across the table. It catches a divot and holds, creaking but stable with the pressure on Jason’s arms as he sinks lower, allowing Luis’ weight to impale himself against the blunt stick in his throat.

The skin tears. The heavy table shifts as Luis slams against it, against Jason, who has sunk down almost into a squat as he braces the broken cue with both arms held over his head, biceps firm with thousands of push-ups over the months. He’s slammed painfully against the table, back bent, pinned by Luis’ weight.

Barely twenty seconds have gone by since Jason attacked.

They are still for a few heartbeats, and Jason hears what he was praying for – a wet gurgling sound from Luis. He shifts, releasing the stick and wriggling free, and Luis slumps against the table. The cue snaps again, and rolls away. 

The whole bar is holding its breath. Even the radio is silent. The only sound is the fan.

Jason isn’t even panting.

Luis pushes himself up weakly, collapses to the floor and rolls onto his back. There is a wide, wet wound to the left of his trachea. His forehead is running with blood. 

The man is in shock. It’s probably not fatal. Hell, he will probably get back up in a moment. 

Jason can’t have that. 

He lifts his head, and makes eye contact with one of the pirates at the poker table. He steps forward, eyes firm on the other man’s face. Reaches down without looking and picks up the knife. 

The man, Indonesian in appearance, swallows and looks away. Doesn’t dare to try and stop him. No one does.

Jason steps over Luis. The enormous man blinks through the blood and burbles, trying to speak through a mouthful of red. He reaches up weakly. Pleading.

_(just send a message don’t need to kill him don’t really need to don’t forget Vaas needs him that’s why Vaas didn’t kill him Vaas wants him alive would he really have traded me tried to touch me fucking fucker how fucking dare he only Vaas touches me he’ll probably become a bigger problem if I don’t stop him now kill the fucker kill him kill him)_

The knife slices across the throat so cleanly and easily, at first Jason is not sure it has even worked. Then a wide yawn appears in the skin. 

The blood doesn’t spray. It just bleeds. 

It’s odd, how quickly Luis just gives up. The light is gone from his black eyes quickly as Jason watches. 

He’s calm, so calm. A little relieved, perhaps. As if he has just completed a fairly difficult task with his accounts. He’s standing now – when did he get up? – looking down at the dead man, listening to the uneasy silence of the two dozen bodies around him, feeling the moisture in the overheated air, watching the blood pool across the floorboards, almost black in the yellow light from the weak bulbs overhead. 

“So.”

Every eye in the room darts to the darkness of the doorway, where Vaas stands, leaning against the doorframe. There’s a smear of blood against his cheek, and Jason can see the skin is split over the knuckles of his right hand. 

“So.” How long has he been standing there?

He steps forward, slowly, threateningly? Jason can’t tell. His eyebrows are lifted slightly, but his expression is unreadable.

“So,” a third time, cadence dark. He’s approaching, head cocked. “What’s all this, then? Hmm?”

He stops at the body, holding Jason’s gaze over the dead man on the floor, lips pursed. “Any reason our dear friend here had to die, Jason?”

Jason holds his eyes firm. He can feel his heartbeat again. His skin shivers lightly. He feels something wanting to erupt, not yet but soon, and he can’t tell what it is yet. Is he going to laugh? Scream? Cry? Run?

“He tried to touch me.” Jason states it as if he is making an amiable observation. He doesn’t know of any other way to behave right now.

Vaas makes a slow half-bow. “Aaaah,” he breathes in understanding, and something in Jason’s chest flutters at the sound. 

The pirate regards him, lazily eyeing Jason up and down, swaying slightly from side to side, shifting his weight gracefully from one foot to the other. Jason recognizes it as a predatory stance and his grip tightens around the knife. He had almost forgotten they are not alone. The patrons of the bar seem poised to attack, or more likely to flee. Vaas seems oblivious.

“That’s all right then,” he proclaims suddenly, loftily, spreading his arms and announcing it to the room, “Because no one…” he steps forward, placing a boot on Luis’ face, “no one…” he steps up, bearing down with his full weight, crushing nose and teeth and bone, “ _no one_ touches my boy.” He steps down, standing against Jason. Puts his arms around him, ignoring the knife, running a hand through the long brown hair. Pushes Jason against the pool table again and kisses him, slow and deep, licking the inside of his mouth. 

It’s a show, and Jason can’t help but admire the impudence and cheek. He plays along by locking his wrists around the other man’s neck, hunting knife still clutched in one hand, refusing to let go of the illusion that he is merely choosing not to use it on Vaas, not right now. 

The murmur of the bar starts again. People turn away. The tension of the last few minutes eases, threat gone, judgement made.

Vaas eases away, placing another small kiss on Jason’s mouth and continuing to hold him close. “You ruined the table,” he murmurs. 

“And you planned this.” Jason surprises himself. The other man’s proximity is making him breathless. He can identify the feeling in his gut, now.

_(“do you like it when he fucks you?”)_

Vaas rests their foreheads together and grins. Jason can feel his teeth against his lips. He tastes of fire and ice, crisp and dangerous, like vodka. “Maybe not quite like this. But my boys… they gotta have respect. For me.” A kiss. “And for what’s mine. That little one before had no respect. This one,” Vaas gestures to the body on the floor with his eyes, “he definitely had no respect.”

“Sorry about your deal.” He’s not sorry at all. Vaas kisses him again. 

“It was a shit deal,” he whispers conspiratorially against Jason’s mouth. “I already knew the other guy. Never going to happen. But… I was interested to see how far this fucker would go. Smug, stupid. Always rushing into things, always thinks he’s got the bigger dick, never thinking anything through.”

“And you thought he’d do something stupid and reckless tonight? So you picked a fight and left us alone? Because you knew what he would do? What I would do?” 

A smile full of teeth he can feel but not see. “You know the best way to predict someone’s behavior?”

Jason licks across the smile. The knife is solid and heavy in his hand and he’s invincible. This, this, is what he needs. What he wants. Tonight has turned out well for both of them. “Their past behaviour?”

Vaas grinds his hips against Jason’s, holding him crushingly tight. His amber eyes fill Jason’s vision and his world, and Jason is content for it to be so. 

“Did I ever-“ _kiss_ “-tell you-“ _kiss_ “-the definition-“ _kiss_ “of insanity?”


	6. Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaas takes Jason on holiday, and Jason turns the tables. 
> 
> (Graphic description of hunting a boar toward the end of the chapter. If that's not your thing, please skip.)

**On the first day** , they arrive at the small hut on the beach and Jason helps Vaas unload the large containers of water and sack of rice from the boat. His feet slip on the rocks and he nearly drops the sack he’s carrying. Vaas shakes his head. “Stupid white boy,” he says. He’s not really angry. 

The shack is tiny, but there’s a proper wooden bed frame in there with a double mattress and even a mosquito net hanging from a hook in the wall. There’s a blanket box at the foot of the bed, a desk against the far wall and a small card table with two rickety wooden chairs and a hurricane lamp. There are four dried skulls handing on the walls as decoration; two boars, a goat and what looks like a deer. Jason carries in a plastic bag and is surprised to find clean sheets inside. He makes the bed while Vaas gathers some firewood and scoops a fire pit in the sand nearby. 

Jason finishes with the bedding and opens the blanket box to find two pillows and a fleece blanket, all smelling rather stale but not damp or mouldy. This should be more than sufficient in the heat. Task done, he stacks the water containers in the corner with the rice and some hessian bags full of cooking utensils and clothing, and looks in the drawers of the desk. A pack of cards, a couple of lighters, some pencils and a pen knife. 

A week, Vaas had told him. He’s taking his boy away for a week. Like most of Vaas’ decisions it seems to have been spur-of-the-moment. He’s shaken Jason awake two hours prior and told him to pack some clothes. When Jason had staggered out of their room, bleary-eyed with a bundle of clothes wrapped in a spare T shirt, Vaas had grabbed his hand and led him to the dock where the boat was already packed and ready to go. 

Jason yawns as he leans against the doorway, facing the ocean. It’s early enough, probably ten o’clock, and he’s tired. The light breeze from the glassy ocean is refreshing, though. He steps forward and checks out their surroundings. They’re on the south-western corner of the north island, he thinks, on a strip of beach with rocks to their left and pristine sands to the right. There is scrub behind them, which turns into a strip of jungle which in turn disappears into a rocky cliff a short distance away. It’s secluded and quiet and probably difficult to get to, other than by watercraft or dune buggy. 

It’s beautiful. In the past Jason would have paid a lot of money to spend a week here.

He picks his way through the rocks to get back to the boat for the last sack. He hauls it ashore and back to the hut, passing Vaas who seems to be nearly finished with his pit. 

A bottle of kerosene, a portable camping stove, a small propane gas bottle, four bottles of moderately-priced scotch whisky, some canned goods and bread, several bottles of coconut oil, Vaas’ ‘special’ tin box, some biscuits. Jason arranges the items on the desk and opens a packet of dry biscuits, offering some to Vaas when he arrives with a fishing spear and a bow and arrow, sweaty and shirtless. 

“We’ll chill for today,” says Vaas through a mouthful of biscuit. “Tomorrow we’ll go fishing. Good stocks around here. Gotta go out a long way if you want really big ones though. Tuna, marlin, that sort of shit.”

“I’m tired,” Jason grumbles, slouching over the card table. “And why don’t you ever bring sunscreen? I’ll be covered in skin cancers soon.” 

Vaas chuckles. “Stop your bitching. I brought you coconut oil. Use that.”

“No,” Jason pouts. “It doesn’t stop me burning. It gets all over everything. And we both know what you brought it for.”

Vaas kicks his leg. “Let’s go swimming. There’s sharks here but they stick to deep water mostly. It’s pretty shallow for a long way. Just don’t go swimming at night, man. You go swimming here at night, you deserve what you fucking get.” 

They strip naked and swim for a while, playing catch with each other. The sea is like a lagoon, still and perfectly clear. Vaas shows him a small pile of underwater temple ruins nearby and they pick through the rock pools looking at colourful creatures. They splash through the rocks, laughing like children, and dare each other to swim underneath rocky outcrops to surface on the other side without choking. When they tire they move to the shack, where Vaas makes use of the coconut oil and Jason rides him gently for what feels like hours. The breeze moves pleasantly through the doorway and they doze together afterwards in the scent of oil and sand and sea and sex. 

In the early evening Vaas lights the fire and puts on a pot of rice and another of tinned curry. They’re both starving and they eat from the pot with forks, sitting together on the sand next to the campfire as the light fades behind them. When they’re done Vaas takes the dirty pot and strides into the sea, dropping the pot under the water with a stick to mark its place (“the fish will clean it, man, I’m not washing fucking dishes”). He rinses their forks and they retire to the shack. In the light of the hurricane lamp they open the scotch and play cards for a while, laughing together and accusing each other of cheating, which they both are. When they tire of that, Vaas arranges the mosquito netting over the bed and blows out the lamp. In the moonlight they undress and lie down head-to-toe, sucking each other to almost simultaneous orgasms, where Jason turns around and lies on Vaas’ chest and they kiss, passing their combined semen into each other’s mouths several times before Vaas swallows the lot. 

 

**On the second day** Vaas wakes him early by tossing a live crab onto his chest. “Gotta catch our breakfast, Jason. I never found a McDonald’s around here yet.” Jason yelps and sits up, slapping the crab to the floor. Vaas laughs.

Outside Vaas cuts off the crab’s legs and claws, then cracks the shell with the butt of his machete. Jason grimaces and looks to the scrub near the rocks. A scrap of cloth has been tied to a bush, and near it he finds a pit dug into the ground. He squats over it, keeping a close eye for snakes, but trusting that Vaas already checked before digging it. He’s even left toilet paper. When he returns Vaas has left a small fire burning down to coals on the beach and is in the boat, brandishing a coffee mug full of crab bait and revving the boat’s motor impatiently. 

“I thought we were spear fishing,” says Jason ten minutes later, playing with the spear idly as Vaas baits his rusting hook and casts his hand line. Sharpened tent pegs have been tied to one end of the spear with waxed twine. 

“Later, man,” says Vaas, staring intently at the water. “You complain too much. And you sleep too much. You’re getting lazy, Snow White. Am I doing too good a job of taking care of you, eh?”

“Yeah, actually,” Jason muses, settling back into the boat. The sun is just over the ocean’s horizon, covered by green clouds, and the sea is as calm as it was yesterday. The air is fresh and cool, but not cold, and he’s comfortable in the womb-like rock of the boat. “I’m not an invalid. I can do stuff.” He leaves it unsaid that he can do damage – lots of it. Vaas’ use of his old nickname is heavy with suggestion in the air between them. 

“I’m letting you out all the time now. I even took you with me to see the mercs. And you started checking out old bitches.” His voice is genial, but there’s darkness in it. 

“You needed to let me out more often. I was going weird there for a while. Especially when you fucked off for two weeks.” Jason is serious. He can’t laugh about that, not yet. “And I wasn’t checking her out. It was just weird seeing a woman. A competent-looking woman. Not like the sluts you always have hanging around.” Jason can play this game too. 

“They’re for the boys. Not me.” 

Jason feels smug at having successfully diverted the conversation. “Sure, I believe you.” He keeps his voice lofty.

Vaas gives him a sharp look. “You think I go fucking anything that moves? You seen those bitches up close? I wouldn’t touch them with _your_ dick. Gotta have some standards, man.” He turns his attention back to his line. “They’re rotten with the fucking clap anyway. I have to ship in extra antibiotics all the time for my boys. Ain’t enough rubber in the world to stop some of that shit. Me, I keep my junk real clean.”

“Oh.” Jason isn’t that surprised. He seems to recall Vaas saying he likes nice things, or perhaps it was expensive things. He also feels some relief – Vaas has not used any protection with him at all, and the fear of AIDS and herpes and hepatitis has been a constant in the back of his mind. If he is going to die, he’d rather it isn’t by STD.

He is debating whether he should continue the conversation when Vaas jerks his arm and lands a large trevally.

By mid-morning they have four fish, enough for breakfast. Jason is a poor fisherman (“fuck, give me the line man, we’ll fucking die if I leave this to you”) and when they return Vaas sends him into the scrub to look for torch ginger and screwpine leaves. Jason pokes the embers of the fire while Vaas slices the throats of the fish and bleeds them in the sand. He watches as the pirate removes the innards and scales them with a serrated knife. He lays them on screwpine leaves and crushes torch ginger over them, then wraps the fish in more leaves and lays them in the coals. 

“How long will this take?”

“Till it’s done.”

Vaas retrieves their cooking pot from the night before, grinning as he shows Jason how clean it is, and they play tic tac toe in the damp sand while they wait. ‘Done’ turns out to be about twenty minutes, and the glorious smell of gingery grilled fish has Jason’s mouth watering. Vaas hooks the leaves from the coals with sticks and unwraps them to reveal beautifully cooked fish, fragrant and succulent. They gobble down their hot breakfast with forks, scraping the flesh from the bones. Jason looks away as Vaas makes a show of eating the eyes, then picks between his pearly teeth with a rib bone. 

Vaas cleans up by flinging the leaves and bones into the sea. They both strip naked and wash in the ocean, cleaning under their fingernails and scrubbing away the sweat of the morning. Returning to shore, Vaas retrieves his tin and a mug of water from the shack while Jason lies back on the sand. The morning is starting to meld into afternoon, and he’s drowsy after a nice meal. Vaas takes a rollie from the tin and they pass it back and forth, sitting naked on the sand together, trying to blow smoke rings. It’s a potent blend, and Jason quickly finds his vision is taking too long to catch up to whatever he’s actually looking at. Vaas calls him a lightweight and finishes the rest, inhaling so deeply Jason marvels at the man’s tolerance. Feeling sick, Jason retreats to the shack for a snooze. 

A delicious sensation awakens him slowly. He’s on his stomach, still naked, one leg bent next to him, and there is something wonderful happening between his buttocks. Strong hands cup each cheek, separating them, and a slippery tongue is lapping languidly at the furrows of his anus. Awake enough to realize what is going on, he shifts his hips to release the pressure on his aching erection and rises a little on his knees. Vaas sits back a little and blows air gently over the saliva. Jason’s toes curl. 

“Fuck, keep going, keep fucking going, I’ll come if you keep doing that,” Jason moans. Vaas presses forward and Jason can feel his teeth against his skin as he grins. The goatee scratches lightly as Vaas continues his work, alternating between pressing open-mouth kisses against his pucker, prodding with the tip of his tongue and sucking gently. Jason can feel soft breath against the top of his cleft, and for some reason that turns him on just as much as what is going on with lips and tongue. He rises further on his knees, forehead pressed into the pillow, wantonly exposing himself for more. He keens, wanting to stroke himself but delaying his orgasm. Vaas licks a stripe from the back of his balls across his perineum back to his anus, and he shudders. When Vaas gently applies pressure with his thumbs to open him slightly and wiggles what feels like the entire length of his tongue inside, Jason wails and releases all over the mattress without touching his cock. 

Vaas chuckles. “You fucking love it when I do that.” Jason can only moan and roll over, left hand across his eyes. He’s in fucking heaven. 

Vaas crawls onto the bed, kissing the back of his hand and gently sucking on the stump of his severed ring finger. 

_(“Now we’ll never be married.”)_

Liza… Daisy? Jason is too caught in the present to continue the thought, to remember who made that odd comment.

Vaas kneels upward, knees on either side of Jason’s shoulders and offering his seeping cock. Jason blows Vaas slowly, taking his time, as Vaas grips the base and rocks his hips back and forth smoothly. Surprisingly, he even allows Jason to cup his buttocks and slip a spit-smeared finger deep inside, and comes down Jason’s throat shortly after.

Jason is ready for another nap, but Vaas drags him upright by the hair. “You sleep too much,” he says again, pulling on a pair of pants. “You’ve been out for ages. Come on. I got us dinner.” 

Dinner is a sea turtle, beheaded with flippers removed and entrails hooked out through the neck hole. The fire has been stoked and Vaas has been heating golfball-sized rocks in the coals. Using the blade of a large knife, Vaas brings red-hot rocks and coals to the neck stump and pokes them into the body with sticks. He sets the shell upside down in the coals and throws on some extra driftwood. 

“Tortoises are better,” he explains, sitting back and cracking open the half-empty bottle of scotch from last night. “They’re fucking amazing. Can’t eat too many of them though. They breed too slow.”

Jason is beyond impressed, and they have only been there two days. “If I ever get stranded on a deserted island, I want you with me,” he says solemnly, and Vaas laughs.

They watch the ocean together in silence for a while. Jason has indeed slept for ages, and the sun is sinking down behind the cliffs to the west. Vaas turns the turtle over, and soon deems it ready. They hook the shell from the fire and cool it on the sand. It cracks apart easily and Vaas turns it over so they can eat out of the top part. The meat is cooked inside and out. 

“Should have brought some vinegar,” Vaas complains as they dig in with forks. “Actually,” he continues with a mouth full of succulent white meat, “I should have brought a bigger pot. Sliced up the meat and boiled it up with coconut milk and garlic and ginger and lime and chillies and herbs. I’ll make that for you, Jason. Maybe next time. We’ll have turtle soup.” 

Jason is strangely moved. “I’d like that. I’d really like that. But this is great too.” It’s the truth. He leans over and kisses his kidnapper, tormentor and rapist fondly. Vaas tastes of the ocean, of turtle meat and scotch and marijuana smoke, and a hint of musk from their sex play earlier. 

They break apart at the sound of a rumble in the distance, out to sea. Grey clouds are gathering.

“Hmm,” says Vaas thoughtfully. “Bit late in the season for that.” It’s true. Dry season has begun, to Jason’s relief. The climate is more temperate now, compared to the unbearable soggy heat where he felt he was chewing the air.

“Is it a storm, do you think?” 

“Doesn’t smell like a storm. Just heavy rain. Probably come in after midnight. Help me get everything inside.” 

“After dinner?” Jason holds up a fork. 

They gobble down the rest of the turtle and Vaas drops the shell into a nearby rock pool to be cleaned by crabs, like a skull on an ant hill. They have spread out more than Jason had thought, and they gather their clothes, shoes, cooking utensils and Vaas’ drug tin to throw into the corner of the shack. 

“We ate a bit early,” Jason comments blithely. “I’ll be hungry later.” 

Vaas tosses a length of rope at him. “No fucking pleasing you California boys.” He sounds amused.

Vaas takes Jason to the scrub line and they find two shrubs sturdy enough to support a clothesline. They tie the rope on at shoulder-height, then go back to the beach and strip naked again. They wash their clothes in the surf, scrubbing in the sand. Jason feels oddly domestic. 

“Rain will wash out the salt,” Vaas explains as they hang up their dripping shirts, socks and pants. Jason peers at him. He’s slightly perplexed by this experience. It’s not quite what he was expecting, this playing house. 

He’s not complaining.

When the light fades entirely, they snack on jerky and play cards again. Vaas can put away the scotch, and Jason drinks too much trying to keep up. They run into the ocean in the dark, giggling and splashing each other. The waves have picked up with the oncoming rain, and the clouds have covered the moon. The only light is from the hurricane lamp, glowing in the doorway of the shack. 

Vaas rushes at him, catching him around the middle and they collapse under the knee-high water. Jason chokes a little and comes up, coughing and spluttering, and Vaas dunks him again. He wraps his arms around the other man and they wrestle in the shallows. Somewhere along the way it turns into kissing, and Jason finds himself on his back in the surf, water gushing around him, with Vaas lying on top of him kissing passionately like some absurd romantic comedy. At least it’s too dark to see. 

Vaas gets up and staggers a few paces away to the edge of the surf. Jason hears the sound of him urinating and he stands to put his arms around him from behind, reaching down to grip his cock. Vaas cackles and wobbles unsteadily as Jason writes his own name in the sand flamboyantly, saying each letter out loud, unable to see where it is splashing in the dark. Vaas turns and kisses him again, the last of his hot urine spilling over Jason’s own cock and thighs. It’s too much for Jason when Vaas kneels in front of him and starts to lick him clean.

“Filthy,” he gasps, over stimulated and overwhelmed, cock instantly flooding with blood. “Fucking filthy.”

“You love it,” Vaas slurs in the dark, lapping at his penis and fondling his dripping sac. “You love my tongue. You love my mouth and my fingers and my dick. You love what I do to you. You love me.” Even drunk, a few hard sucks is all it takes, and Jason fists his hand in the dark stripe of hair and comes down the throat with a wail. 

Vaas falls onto his back, laughing and gurgling. Jason can feel the surf around his toes and he falls to his hands and knees, resting his head on Vaas’ taut stomach. It’s too dark, he’s drunk, he can’t see and he has no point of reference. It’s making him dizzy. 

The rain wakes him up, cold on his naked body. He starts awake, heart pounding in the pitch blackness. He’s chilled and stiff. What the fuck?

It takes him a second. The incoming rain. Vaas breathing softly underneath him. He replays the events of the last few hours in his head. Playing cards, drinking scotch, swimming… oh. He actually blushes in the dark. 

He staggers to his feet, head pounding. The hurricane lamp is still lit, and the doorway to the shack is still glowing dimly. He wades out a little to where the tide has retreated and splashes himself with sea water. “Come on,” he says, pulling at Vaas, who is not so much asleep as unconscious. He practically has to drag the pirate into the shack, Vaas stumbling and falling, where they both collapse onto the bed, clinging to each other in the cool darkness.

 

**On the third day** , Jason awakens and wishes he hadn’t. His head is pounding, he is cold, the bed is full of sand and his mouth tastes like dirty carpet. It’s relatively early – the light is grey, the air cool, and the rain is still falling steadily. He observes the state of the room with one eye cracked open. Vaas is sitting at the card table, still nude, self-medicating with more scotch. “Morning,” he observes cheerfully, lighting half a rollie and inhaling deeply.

“How are you up?” Jason groans, rolling over. “You had, like, three times what I had. And I feel like shit.”

“Hair of the dog. Weed helps with nausea. And I have some pills.” 

“Aspirin?”

“Ah… sure.” Vaas’ grin is wicked. He looks perfectly fine.

Jason takes a white tablet with a mug of water. He makes his way to the table where he has a drag of Vaas’ joint and waits while Vaas strips the bed, shakes the sandy sheets out the doorway and re-makes it. They share some dry biscuits, watching the rain out the window. It isn’t long before Jason is feeling fine. Better than fine. 

“What do we do today?” he asks, taking a swig of scotch. Really, really fine. He suspects the pill wasn’t aspirin.

Vaas grins and drags his toes up Jason’s leg. “Let’s do something fun.”

The bed creaks with Vaas’ hard thrusts. Jason lies on his back, thighs spread, ankles locked around Vaas’ arse, head thrown back. He’s gasping, crying out, talking gibberish. He’s completely lost the ability for coherent thought and there is only the now, right now with this man, this terrible, dangerous, murderous, beautiful man in this bed with his backside stuffed with slick cock and rain so loud on the tin roof he can’t hear Vaas’ grunts. He remembers yesterday and proves between Vaas’ buttocks with a slippery finger, finding the tight pucker of muscle and sliding one digit home. Vaas falters for a second, then continues harder than before. Jason adds a second finger and Vaas stutters forward, spilling inside Jason’s body with a howl. Jason eases him through it, sliding his fingers in and out slowly. 

He isn’t done. His crotch is sticky with oil, cock achingly hard, and as Vaas withdraws he spreads his knees and traps Vaas against his body. Gripping the smooth hips and pulling the other man down onto himself, Jason snaps his hips forward and thrusts his cock up in between Vaas’ thighs. The sensation spikes pleasure down his groin, through his legs. He shifts his grip as he begins to thrust up in rhythm, cupping firm buttocks with his hands and gripping Vaas’ body with his knees. He can feel the clammy spent cock on his stomach and come seeping from his hole. 

“Fuck,” he groans into Vaas’ neck. “Fuck, this feels so fucking amazing.” Vaas arches his back slightly. Jason’s grip tightens. Vaas is still looming over him, and Jason leans forward slightly to take a hard nipple into his mouth. Vaas gasps, hips bucking forward. Jason feels the other man’s cock twitch. He alternates between sucking and lapping, thrusting upwards frantically, and by the time he digs his fingertips into those wonderfully tight buttocks and comes, Vaas is hard again, and he rubs against Jason’s belly, whining. 

He stills, keeping his grip tight, panting. Vaas is as taut as a wire, trembling slightly. Jason puts an arm around him and guides him onto his back, where he begins leisurely sucking at a nipple again, lying half on top of the other man. Vaas’ hips undulate subtly, his breathing ragged, barely audible over the sound of the rain. Jason fondles his messy sac, still high from his orgasm, knowing it is not his last of the day, perhaps not even of the morning. 

Vaas is impatient. He grabs Jason’s head and holds it so Jason can continue to suckle, then reaches down and jerks himself roughly. Jason grins and nibbles on the hard brown bud with just enough force to hurt while he continues to cup Vaas’ balls, and soon feels the other man tense and there is a splash against his side. 

They lie together for a time, both wired but unwilling to get up, facing each other and touching each other’s faces, shoulders and chests with fingers trailing lightly over skin. Jason is not as pale as he used to be, but Vaas has tanned too. His bronzed fingers are dark against Jason’s honey-gold tan, soon to fade back into milky peach. His tans never did last. 

Their cocks are different too. Vaas’ is as brown as the rest of him, the head a darker shade of sienna. He’s longer than Jason, both erect and rested. When he’s limp his cockhead hangs below his balls, the base hidden in dark fur. Jason’s resting cock is far shorter, though when he’s hard he’s almost as large as Vaas is, and slightly thicker. His cock head flushes dark red, almost purple, while the shaft is sickly white like the underside of a fish. His own black public hair makes it look even paler. Privately, he thinks Vaas’ cock is much more attractive, certainly close up, but the pirate has never seemed interested in comparing. They’re both uncut, their crowns hidden in soft skin. 

Vaas becomes bored with their stroking and finger-fucks him through another orgasm. Jason fists his own cock, legs spread wide. Vaas bends down and laps at his own fingers as they plunge in and out, tasting Jason and his own spend from earlier. Jason sits up, watching, and comes faster than he thought possible. 

The depressive effect of his hangover and the dope is combating his ‘aspirin’, and tiredness rolls over him in waves almost as soon as he’s done. The rain continues relentlessly, and the two of them spend the day quietly in bed, dozing, waking to drink water and eat biscuits and hold each other quietly, and dozing some more. At one point Jason awakens to see Vaas reading a paperback, and he almost laughs at the sight. Vaas smiles softly and begins to read aloud, in Spanish. Jason drifts away to the sound of that velvety voice. 

The rain finally eases toward dusk, and it’s too late to salvage anything from the day. They eat canned tuna and cold chappatis, then lie back down and fuck once more as the light fades. It’s slow and Jason isn’t sure he’s entirely awake for some of it, as Vaas moves slowly over him with Jason’s hands stroking his shoulders and smooth back. It strikes him that they are actually making love

_(“You love what I do to you. You love me.”)_

and he tenses for a moment, uncomfortable. Thoughts and memories of his old life that he has deliberately shoved into the dark corners of his mind begin to stir, and he tries to force them down as his throat becomes tight. Vaas is sensitive to his body and his moods, and instead of asking what is wrong he bends down and scatters kisses over Jason’s face, hooking a knee over his forearm and changing the angle of his thrusts. Jason strokes himself and whimpers when he comes in a dismal dribble of watery effluent, then escapes into a half-sleep with Vaas still moving inside him. 

 

**On the fourth day** Jason awakens with a start. He lies still in the darkness until his heart stops pounding and he remembers where he is. He’s slept too much lately and his body clock is out of whack. Rolling over, he finds Vaas’ side is empty and cold.

He struggles through the mosquito netting and gropes in the gloom until he finds the desk. He fumbles in the drawer for a lighter, finds one and drops it. 

“Shit,” he grunts, feeling under the desk with his bare foot. Nothing – did it hit the floor? He pulls the desk away from the wall, scraping across the splintery raw boards of the floor, and feels behind it. His fingers brush over some strange indentations in the wood of the back wall and he pauses, curiosity piqued. His foot hits the lighter and he slides it toward himself with his toes. Flicking it he peers at the scratches for some time in the light of the tiny flame, then bites his lip and extinguishes it without bothering to find the hurricane lamp. 

The doorway is a paling shadow in the darkness. He steps onto the sand and looks around. He’s naked and the breeze from the ocean is pleasantly cool on his skin. 

Vaas isn’t difficult to find in the pre-dawn light. He’s sitting near the edge of the tide, a short walk away, tracing patterns in the sand with his fingers. Jason sits next to him without a word, and for a moment is unacknowledged. 

“Do you think of them?” The voice is uncharacteristically soft, handsome face bowed toward the sand and hidden in shadow. “Grant. Riley. The other three boys. The blonde woman. Your girlfriend.” There are icicles in the last word.

Jason thinks for a moment. “No.” It’s the truth, more or less, but he still doesn’t want to have this conversation. He fights down a sting of anger, that Vaas knows him so well, his unease from the night before. “All that… it’s like it happened to someone else. A long time ago.”

A soft snort. “Right. That’s for the best, yeah? We move on. People move on.” 

Jason has no reply, and instead drops a kiss onto the bare shoulder. The pirate has also not bothered to find clothes. They sit in silence for several minutes. 

“You and me,” Vaas says, and pauses. Jason feels a prickle of anxiety. “I feel like you’ve always been here.” 

The tension dissipates a little, and Jason smiles, leaning onto the other’s shoulder. “Yeah. It’s like that.” He takes a breath to speak, to say that before Vaas kidnapped him he had misgivings about returning to his old life, but thinks better of it. He doesn’t want to go there, not yet, perhaps not ever. It may lead back into a conversation about the others, and their fate, and Jason simply doesn’t want to ask the question he knows he won’t be able to resist asking. He doesn’t want to hear the reply – he either won’t like it, or he won’t believe it. He wants that door kept closed, and move on. He exhales instead, and feels Vaas nuzzle into his hair, unknotted and falling in thick, dark brown waves past his shoulders. 

“Your hair. It’s too long. You should let me buzz it,” Vaas says, voice muffled. 

“No, I like it. It keeps my ears and the back of my neck from burning when I’m outside.” The day is getting lighter and warmer, and the world is completely silent and refreshed after the rain of the day before. The ocean is like a pond. Jason’s eyelids feel heavy. The sand is damp and cold. “Are you coming back to bed?”

“No, I’m up. I’ll go fishing soon.” A finger under the chin, lifting Jason’s head for a kiss. “You go back to bed. If you’re not up when I get back, man, I’ll dump the fish guts on you.”

Jason stands and dusts himself off. Arriving back in the shack, he realizes he left the desk ajar. He walks it back against the wall awkwardly, trying to be quiet, covering the initials _V & C_ carved into the wood.

He doesn’t return to sleep. He is feeling restless after his lazy day. He drinks a mug of water, brushes his teeth with bicarb soda, finds the clothesline and pulls on his wet shorts, then sets off for a stroll along the shore line. Looking back, he sees Vaas expertly launching the fishing boat some distance away. 

He feels a tiny thrill that Vaas doesn’t know where he is. 

He’s not stupid, though. It would be an extremely bad idea to make Vaas worry, or make him angry. Jason ambles along the grey shore, listening for predatory animals but assuming that his pirate lover would not have brought him to this place if it were truly dangerous. 

The sun rises as he beachcombs. Looking for interesting shells and pretending he is a boy again, that he is all alone and he has all of forever to explore. It was a favourite game of his, as a child – pretending he was the only person in the world. He slips back into it easily, finding it comforting. 

He takes his morning shit in a patch of scrub and bathes himself in the ocean. His rectum is a little sore, but the feeling is not really unpleasant. He probes gently with a finger, checking for signs of injury. There are none. He’s much better at taking it up the arse than he used to be. Perhaps his insides are tougher, or maybe he’s permanently stretched. 

He feels another cruel jolt of unreality, as if his old self has walked in on him. Jason Brody, happily holidaying on an island paradise with his rapist, washing semen from between his buttocks and checking for blood and scabs. 

_(“You love me.”)_

He shakes his head angrily, as if he can physically loosen the thoughts from his mind. This will not do. 

_(“You’re in a fucking well or something. Gotta bring you back up a bit.”)_

He recognizes that Vaas has breached his apathetic defences. He has known this for some time. He has allowed it, though he does not know his own motivations for doing so – curiosity? Loneliness? Weakness? For protection? Permitting Vaas to get close to him has boosted his chances for survival, after all. 

Jason growls at himself. Is he so comfortable that he can afford the luxury of introspection? No, no, no. Far better to go back to pretending that this is the way it’s always been. He’s been in the position before, locked in Vaas’ bunker for days on end, where he has remembered that his old home and friends are real, have never not been real, and are in fact continuing their existence _right now_ , that as of that very second, his friends and family are alive and eating, sleeping, talking, working, crying, fucking. The sudden ice-cold realisation had terrified him so much he had nearly started screaming. Now, he cuts off the thought _I wonder what time it is in California?_ before it can fully form in his head. There is no California, no America. Not to him. Not to this Jason Brody, with his tan and long hair and faded clothes and maimed left hand, the Jason who has killed hundreds of people, who enjoys hunting wild animals, who is living out his days in a concrete pirate compound and who spreads his legs willingly for his captor every day. 

There is only the here and now. 

Only the island, and Vaas. 

He returns to the shack in a terrible mood. 

Vaas returns late in the morning with several fish and a small bull shark, caught on a line and run through with a spear. He hefts it for Jason, grinning and proud of himself. Jason stands at the door and feels the tightness in his chest ease a little as he laughs. 

Vaas makes a fire and they grill plain fish for breakfast, using the bottom of the turtle shell as a pan. The shark goes in a nearby rock pool to keep it cool. After their meal Jason strips and gets on all fours on the sand, presenting his arse. Delighted, Vaas buries his head between Jason’s buttocks and spends a while making out with Jason’s hole, until he is keening and begging for more. Vaas oils him quickly and mates him like an animal under the hot sun, squatting over him and thrusting with sharp jabs, holding his hips and grunting. Jason can feel the other man’s scrotum slapping against his own and the heat of the sun on the back of his neck and the glare from the pristine sand are making him feel dizzy. He’s overcome with the heat and the bliss of being fucked, scent of oil and sweat and sea and wood smoke, chasing all other thoughts and sensations from his mind. 

Perfect. 

Vaas shoots his load, then cups Jason’s cock and shakes an orgasm from his catamite without withdrawing. Jason collapses on the sand, boneless and content. Vaas coos to him in Spanish, parting his buttocks and cleaning him with his tongue. He then splashes coconut oil on Jason’s back and gives him a delicious massage with strong fingers.

Observing that the sun is turning Jason pink, Vaas takes him into the shack. They doze for an hour together, then they fuck again. Jason doesn’t come until long after Vaas, when the pirate holds his legs up and sucks his own spend from Jason’s puffy sphincter. Jason screams as he flogs himself, feeling Vaas’ teeth as he grins against his flesh. Jason can hear his lover swallowing as he sucks and laps, and the lewd sound is enough to send him over. His stream is weak through overuse and dribbles down his cock and his perineum, where Vaas licks it up. His head rises from between Jason’s thighs, and he nips at the soft skin. “We taste different,” he comments. 

“Read to me,” Jason moans, too sore, exhausted and sated to think. 

Vaas’ only book is in Spanish, and the reading turns into a language lesson.

“I thought most Americans understood Spanish,” Vaas complains. 

“Some do,” Jason grumbles. “I’m not good at it.” 

Vaas teaches him some basic phrases and they crack open the third bottle of scotch. Jason offers to teach Vaas French, and the pirate laughs and response with “ _je vais vous apprendre!_ ” 

When the shadows grow long, Vaas collects the shark and shows Jason where to cut the best strips for flake fillets. Vaas insists on conversing in French, and Jason finds he is not nearly as fluent in the language as he had thought. Vaas cooks the flake in screwpine leaves with torch ginger, and adds some strips of stout kelp. They eat the enormous fillets on the sand, Vaas barking questions at Jason in French and Spanish. Vaas drops the rest of the shark carcass into a rock pool and the two of them spend the rest of the daylight practicing knife throwing, each pointing out increasingly difficult targets such as tree knots to the other. Vaas chatters the entire time, often forgetting to stay in English, telling wild knife-related stories Jason suspects are less than half true. Or entirely. It is hard to tell with Vaas. 

Jason is tired, but wants a good sleep. They play cards and drink scotch and Vaas smokes his crack pipe and tells more pirate stories until the moon is high. They don’t fuck again, but they strip naked and lie side-by-side, rolling their hips together lazily, neither of them getting fully hard, enjoying the feeling of their cool cocks pressing together, until they fall asleep.

 

**On the fifth day** , Jason is surprised that Vaas is still in bed with him when he wakes up. He allows himself to rise from sleep slowly, blearily, until his eyes are fully open. He has a futile staring competition with the skull of the boar hanging opposite the bed for a while, then turns his gaze to the man lying next to him. 

Vaas sleeps on his back, head lolling to one side. He doesn’t toss and turn in his sleep much, nor does he snore. His breathing is light, as if he is still awake. Jason takes time studying the contours of his lean face. He rarely sees Vaas asleep in the light. His face is relaxed but not slack. The man is like a wild animal, dangerous even at his most vulnerable. 

Titillated in spite of himself, Jason slowly slides down the blanket, careful not to wake his bedmate, and leans over to mouth wetly at the half-hard cock. It jumps under his lips and Vaas shifts in his sleep, moaning softly as Jason begins to suck. Vaas’ hips start to undulate softly and he shifts one leg, bending at the knee to give more room. 

He knows he gives good head. His gag reflex is naturally poor and he has always been an enthusiastic receiver of oral sex. He knows what he likes, and he is good at putting that into practice. Vaas has always praised his skill at sucking cock, refusing to believe Jason has never done it before, and even in the early days when Jason would open his mouth and weep silent tears of humiliation, Vaas has always proclaimed Jason to be an excellent cocksucker.

He’s never been good at swallowing, though. He finds the taste of come, even his own, absolutely foul and has trouble understanding how Vaas can lap it up so enthusiastically. 

Jason can’t tell when Vaas actually wakes up, but it doesn’t take long until Vaas is bucking his hips and coming hard. Jason pulls away and catches the fluid in his palm, smearing it over Vaas’ thighs and quickly throwing his leg over the pirate’s body to squat over him, rubbing his cock under Vaas’ testicles. Vaas allows it, still high on arousal, and Jason thrusts wetly between the slick, hairless brown thighs, kissing and sucking roughly under Vaas’ jaw while hands stroke his back. He pulls away when he spurts, aiming at the other man’s cock and balls, feeling a powerfully possessive pleasure as he coats Vaas’ privates. 

Vaas seems to grasp Jason’s mood, because he only accepts a few kisses before he gets up and goes straight to the sea to wash. Jason follows and the other man doesn’t speak as they splash the cold seawater on their bodies. 

“Are you fishing today?” Jason asks, meekly. Vaas nods, curt. 

“Will you take me? I’m sure I can do better.” Jason tries to slip quietly back into his role of bitch without being too obvious. Vaas regards him for a moment, probably guessing – correctly – at his motives. Then his face breaks into a white smile. 

“You can’t do any fucking worse,” he says, and pulls Jason into his arms for a kiss. 

The crabs have been at the shark carcass, and Vaas shouts obscenities at them as he shakes them away and tries to stamp on them. Jason chuckles as he dresses, tossing the last of the chappatis into the boat. Vaas brushes his teeth roughly, pulling on his pants but no shirt, and they set off. 

They fish for hours with strips of shark flesh as bait, but only land one each. Vaas chatters incessantly as they chew on chappatis, occasionally breaking off mid-sentence to shriek at the unproductive waters. It’s well past lunch when they give up, and Vaas cooks their meager meal while Jason tries to read the Spanish paperback. Apparently it is a mystery novel. 

Unsatisfied, Vaas wants to try again. He picks up his tent-peg spear, a hunting knife and a water bottle and takes Jason for a stroll along the shoreline, pointing out landmarks so his ‘white boy’ will know how to find his way again if he is ever lost. He seems to be in a better mood when they reach a tiny bay, with the shallows stretching far out to sea in a crescent moon of brilliantly bright blue. 

“Keep your pants on,” Vaas directs him. “Jellyfish here. And shuffle. Don’t walk.”

Confused, Jason obeys, and follows the other man as he shuffles through the water. 

It only reaches mid-thigh, and it’s warm. Jason is grateful he thought to wear a ¾ sleeve shirt, as the sun has crisped his forearms on the boat. He will need oil tonight. Lost in thought and wishing he had a pair of sunglasses, he is startled when his foot kicks something that shifts. 

“Ack!” he squawks. “Vaas!”

Vaas is at his side in a second, seeing the billowing sand and stabbing down with his spear. It sticks in something and Vaas loses his grip. The spear begins to drift away at speed, toward deeper waters. 

The pirate swears and leaps after it, Jason following. The creature makes a mistake and veers back toward the shallows. The two men bounce after it and flank the swirling sand. Vaas kicks out hard, and reaches down to triumphantly drag a stingray from the water by its tail, not enormous but easily big enough to wrap its flaps around him. Pulling it to the shadows, Vaas stabs it in the head until it stops moving. He guts it in the water and the two return to the shack. 

Vaas prepares dinner, pleased with himself. He shows Jason how to make plain stingray flap balls wrapped in screwpine leaves to roast in the fire, as well as a kind of stingray risotto with their rice and local plants. They feast on stingray until they are bloated, then open the last bottle of scotch and Vaas gives Jason more instruction in Spanish until it’s time for bed. 

“We haven’t fucked properly in ages,” Vaas murmurs, snuggling close. 

“We fucked twice yesterday,” Jason deadpans. 

The pirate chuckles and Jason opens his legs as Vaas climbs on top of him. 

 

**On the sixth day** , Jason wakes up to the smell of the leftover stingray risotto heating over the fire. His arms sting and he rubs them with coconut oil. They’re running low. 

“We leave tomorrow,” Vaas says as Jason approaches the fire. They’re both naked, and an old part of Jason is appalled that they have reached the easy intimacy of being totally comfortable around each other nude. He squashes it down, hard. 

“Already?” he says, accepting a fork. Both men eat quickly from the pot, scraping the sides and picking it clean. Vaas drops it into the shallows again and they bathe together in the cool ocean. Bathing turns to kissing and they stand hip-deep in the water, jerking each other. They both come quickly and they wrap their arms around each other, kissing languidly. 

“How are we spending our last day?” Jason murmurs around the other man’s tongue. 

“I’m sick of fish and white meat,” Vaas announces, letting go of Jason and falling back in the water up to the neck. “I don’t care if we can get meat tomorrow. I want it now. Let’s hunt something.”

Jason is delighted. He is far more skilled at hunting game than fishing. 

They arm themselves with machetes and hunting knives. Vaas takes the bow and arrow. He goes shirtless again, and Jason opts for a long-sleeved smock. He is striped all the way down his arms from wearing singlets, T shirts and ¾ shirts on different days. Vaas hasn’t even bothered with pants, and has tied what seems to be a faded red sarong around his waist, hanging down to his knees. 

They creep slowly into the scrub. The morning song of the birds has faded away, and there is only the chirp of insects, the faint rush of the calm sea and the soft breeze through trees. It’s another warm day, but not uncomfortably hot.

The scrub becomes sparse forest as the two men spread out. Jason watches Vaas from the corner of his eye. The man is focused, completely silent on bare feet, muscles taut in his back and arms and chest. His bronze skin is clean and dry. He looks feral, completely at home.

Sometimes Jason forgets Vaas is Rakyat. 

Vaas stops still and tenses, cocking his head minutely. Jason follows suit, hesitating. There is a sound. A twig crack, not far away. The insects have stopped too. They are not alone. 

Jason is not even aware he is holding his breath. Sweat pours down his temples. He has forgotten to tie his hair back and it hangs damply in his face. 

Everything goes completely to hell when a wild boar erupts from a bush directly in front of him. 

Jason swings his machete wildly and hears the twang of an arrow as Vaas lets loose. The boar squeals and charges at Jason, who completely forgets he should be leaping out of the way. The boar slams into his chest and he is knocked off his feet, grabbing handfuls of stinking pig to keep it from swinging its tusks directly at his face. It rears and slams its trotters down, barely missing Jason’s head as he thrashes underneath it. There is another thud of an arrow and Jason realizes Vaas is screaming along with the pig, and so is he. The machete is too large to use effectively in this tiny space. Jason has no hope of reaching his hunting knife. 

There is another thud, much louder, and the boar squeals again, dipping its head to gore at Jason. He thrashes underneath, crying aloud in fear and pain, and blood sprays on his face as he realizes Vaas has thrown his hunting knife right into its neck. He reaches up with his left hand and grasps the knife, pulling sharply. The pig shrieks and Jason deftly transfers the knife to his other hand, swiping a wide smile into the boar’s throat. His world goes black with blood – in his eyes, his nose, his ears, his mouth. He slashes again desperately and nearly chokes with dead weight as the boar collapses on top of him. 

Vaas is by his side. Trying to drag him out. Jason, overwrought, slashes out with the knife. The weight eases enough for him to wriggle free, wiping blood from his eyes, Vaas has caught the boar by the tusks, dragging it away and kicking at it, screaming and wrenching wildly in his fright and grief, and Jason realizes how he must look, covered in blood.

“You fucker!” Vaas howls, grabbing him by his smock and dragging him to his feet. “You fucking fucking fucker!” He kicks at Jason’s leg. “You weren’t watching! I saw you! Stupid fucking white boy!”

“I’m fine,” Jason chokes. Is he fine? He feels odd. The knife is still in his hand, and nothing can make him let it go. He tastes blood, and it’s good.

Vaas is dancing in his rage. “You could have been fucking killed! By a fucking pig! A fucking stupid pig! Stupid motherfucker! Fucking fuck!” There are furious tears in his eyes. 

Jason’s world slows to a crawl. He gets up, holding the knife. Vaas is still screaming, but he can’t hear over the buzz in his head. 

_(“It feels like winning.”)_

It’s good.

He whips around. Blood. So much blood. On his smock, on his pants, his skin, in his hair. On the plants all around, and a huge splash of it on the forest floor at his feet. The air is rank with the scent of it. On Vaas, on his arms and bare skin. His delicious bare skin. Even in his hysteria he has a primal grace, and it’s too much for Jason to handle. 

Vaas’ eyes widen as Jason leaps at him, the knife clutched tightly in one fist. Both men go flying, to crash down on the sodden, bleeding carcass of the boar. The knife slashes through the air, and Vaas shrieks. 

The blade stabs through the flesh of the boar like play-dough, slipping cleanly between two ribs. More blood, so much blood. Jason’s hands grab Vaas’ wrists, pinning them to the stinking pig flesh. Vaas bucks his hips reflexively and Jason groans, shoving his own hips forward to grind his rock-hard erection, which sprouted he has no idea how long ago, against the other man. Vaas howls. 

Jason nips and bites frantically against Vaas’ neck and throat and chest. There is so much power in his own arms, and Vaas struggles against it. He’s bent backwards over the boar and at this angle Jason has a big advantage. Jason releases one arm to rip his top away. He needs to feel skin on skin. The reprieve allows a fist to smash into his jaw, and Vaas is nearly up before Jason grabs him again to force him down. His jaw feels numb, and he’ll bruise horribly later. But later is not now, and all he can smell and feel is blood. Blood pounding under Vaas’ skin. He can feel it, fluttering in the other man’s wrists. 

Vaas is screaming again, trying to bite as Jason starts to rut in earnest. Vaas’ sarong has hiked up around his waist, and Jason brings the other man’s wrists up and grabs them with his right hand so he can free his erection with his left. Vaas’ legs kick out and he bucks and writhes, but the hard shape of his cock against Jason’s stomach cannot be ignored. Jason’s pants are pushed down over his arse, and if he had the presence of mind to be aware of his surroundings he may reflect on his ridiculous he must look, but that is for later. For now he keeps Vaas’ slippery wrists in an iron grip as he reaches under the other man’s buttocks and slides a bloody finger deep inside. 

The effect is immediate. Vaas tenses against him, thrashing and kicking, and Jason crashes their lips together so hard and fast he actually thinks he may have cracked a tooth. Vaas snarls and bites, and Jason’s lip splits. He adds another finger, thrusting hard. The boar blood loosens the way beautifully. 

It will have to do. His third finger is a useless stump anyway. He’s too strung out, and he needs this now. He wipes his hand across the boar’s bristles, sluicing more blood into his palm, and wipes his cock with it. He hooks Vaas’ thrashing leg, hiking his hips upward, and presses forward. 

His cock bursts through sickly, and oh God it must hurt. Vaas throws his head back, mouth open, roaring in pain and rage. Jason presses forward into that tight, hot vice and it is the most amazing thing his cock has ever experienced. He bottoms out quickly, growling feral noises against Vaas’ beautiful skin, and begins to thrust. 

He lets go of the leg and reaches up to grab a wrist in each palm again. He spreads his legs and his pants fall down around his ankles. He’s speaking, or snarling, he’s not sure, but he can’t make sense of what he is saying nor can he really hear it over Vaas’ cries, other than the fact he’s calling Vaas _baby_ , which is just absurd. He barely has the coherent thought processes to register that Vaas is keeping his legs open, holding his own hips up, but it’s true, and he can fuck into the body beneath him cleanly and easily. 

The angle has the other man’s cock pressed between them and it slides between skin slick with blood. Vaas cants upward, spreading his legs wider, wailing. Jason shakes his leg free and lifts a foot, planting it on the boar next to him, changing the angle so he can fuck harder.

Jason still does not dare let go. This cannot end, not until he has finished.

It’s been so long since he’s done any fucking.

There is no need to chase his orgasm, as it has been building since before he sheathed his cock. He tries to delay even as his hips speed up, keeping no particular rhythm, focusing on the smell of blood and the sight of the other body under him, head thrown back to expose a throat covered with love bites, mouth open. 

He has lost track of time, lost in this unbelievable world of blood and sex, when the sphincter muscles around him clamp down even tighter and spasm, and he feels gusts of hot wetness – white, this time – spurt from where their bellies are rubbing together. It arouses him beyond what he can stand, and he lets go of the wrists to hold the hip bones, thumbs tightly gripping the V of the other man’s pelvis, grinding down as hard as he can, throwing his head back and letting loose the loudest sound he has ever made in his life. 

He has had so many orgasms lately that his flow has been weak, dribbles more than anything else. This feels, however, like he is passing massive streams, oceans, flooding the other man’s bowel with hot ribbons of his seed, emptying his balls completely in the most intense orgasm he’s ever had.

He stills, eyes screwed shut. He’s shaking all over. 

A moment passes. 

The thought of _fuck I just raped someone_ comes to mind, and for a moment he is sick with fear. 

_Fuck. I just raped Vaas._

He is going to die now. 

The hunting knife is on the other side of the animal. 

He opens his eyes and sees blurry green. Trees. His vision clears and he lowers his head, slowly. Hears his own panting. He can feel skin, Vaas’ skin, his thumbs digging cruelly into the flesh above his hip bones. 

Vaas is lying over the boar, still, head back, only his jaw line visible, and for a second Jason thinks he’s killed him. Then movement, and slowly Vaas shifts, bringing his head up.

He regards Jason with cold, hard yellow eyes. 

Jason’s cock slips from his body, shriveled and spent and afraid. 

He lets go of Vaas’ hips. Puts his leg down. Stumbles, backing away slowly, until he hits a tree. He’s shaking so badly he needs the support. 

The reek of blood is no longer arousing. Now he feels sick. 

Vaas watches him, spread over the boar. There are bruises blooming on his wrists and his hips, on his flawless bronze skin. 

His body is beautiful, and in post-coital repose – violent or otherwise – he looks just like someone else, in manner, expression, and even in refinement. Never before has Jason been so struck by the resemblance between Vaas and Citra. Siblings, both frighteningly intelligent and manipulative, both able to see into his pathetic shallow little soul and smirk at what they found. 

He’s fucked them both, now, and the price was high the first time. 

A billion worlds of possibility unfold behind his eyes as he waits for Vaas to make his move. 

Vaas brings a hand forward, twitching his sarong so it covers him. There’s so much blood between his thighs, and Jason has no idea how much of it is the boar’s. 

He leans forward, sliding from the boar onto his feet. He picks up the machete from the ground. 

Jason is resigned. He won’t stop him. 

Vaas kicks at the boar, pulls the broken arrows and hunting knife from its neck. Then he looks at Jason. 

“Help me,” is all he says. 

Jason blinks. 

Vaas turns to the boar, and with some effort rolls it onto its back. Drags it to a nearby tree fork. He’s limping. Jason stumbles forward dumbly and helps him lift it, wedging it into the fork of the tree. It’s a large one and takes some effort from both men. When it is in place, head hanging down, Vaas takes the hunting knife and splits it down the middle. He guts the boar, spilling its foul-smelling organs and intestines onto the ground and letting it bleed out. 

They stand together, Vaas’ face impassive and unreadable. 

Vaas waits for about five minutes, then begins to butcher the boar where they are. He removes the trotters and slices around the head and up the legs, then removes the skin in one piece with quick, practiced movements, yanking it free from where it is pinned against the tree. He spreads the skin on the ground and takes the meat from the back of the front legs, dropping it onto the skin. He goes to the back of the boar and hacks away at the roast joint near the backbone, then cracks the back legs loudly as he tries to remove them for the fillets. Jason helps clumsily, having no idea how this day will end. 

Getting much more of the meat will require a chainsaw, and they have no means to carry it all. Vaas abandons the carcass for whatever predator is nearby, and wraps the meat in the skin. The smell is appalling, they have made a hell of a ruckus, and they should not stay much longer. Vaas gathers the skin and throws it over his shoulder to carry it on his back. 

“Do you want me to…?” Jason begins, and is silenced with a stare. 

They make their way back slowly in the heat of the afternoon. Vaas is limping, clearly in pain. 

Jason has never noticed before that he is the taller of the two. 

When they get back to the shack, Vaas packs the bundle in wet sand to keep it cool and away from flies. He then unties his sarong and steps into the sea, and Jason blanches at the sight of all the blood. Some of it is fresh, trickling down the back of his thighs. 

Vaas strides out a little way and sits in the water. He washes the grime and blood from his skin. After a second, Jason strips and joins him. 

They sit together for a moment. 

“Did you enjoy fucking me?” 

The question is so blatant that Jason is stunned to silence. 

“Did you?” 

His tone is hard. Best to answer. 

“Yeah. Um. Yeah. It was great.” He feels more is needed. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Why?” 

Why indeed? Hasn’t Vaas forced himself on Jason innumerable times? “I got carried away. I don’t know how or why. I just… needed it.”

A pause. “If there had been someone else there with you? Other than me?”

Where the fuck is this going? “I don’t know.” He tries to imagine. A stranger? Liza? Daisy? “No.” Citra…? Maybe. Definitely.

“So it was just me. You wanted to fuck me.”

“I don’t know. It just kind of happened. It was all blood and I was terrified and then… we won, and I just. I just. Um. I guess I just really, really wanted to fuck.”

Vaas chuckles darkly, looking out to sea, and Jason feels a spark of hope. “Yeah, _hermano_. We won.” A pause. “It got the jump on us because you were looking at me. You’re gonna get us killed if you don’t fucking pay attention. You hear?”

Jason nods, yes, anything. The conversation sounds as if it is winding toward forgiveness, and he doesn’t understand why, but he’ll take it. 

“You fucking control yourself next time. You’re a hunter, so act like one. You want to fuck, we can fuck, but not right there, on top of what you killed. That’s fucking stupid and dangerous.” His amber eyes drill into Jason’s own. “And you don’t take what’s not on offer. You hear me?”

Jason’s relief is so extreme he feels he might melt. Vaas’ odd behavior is striking a wrong note, and he knows it’s something he should be wondering about and even probing, but he can’t care right now. He leans forward and presses his face into Vaas’ neck. He smells of salt and a faint undertone of sweat and blood, but it’s not unpleasant. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and presses some kisses against the skin in apology. Vaas dips his head, and the two kiss like lovers as they sit in the gentle surf. 

Jason makes dinner. 

He slices up some boar fillets and cooks them in the pot with ginger. He finds a small can of crushed tomatoes and another of coconut cream and pours them over the roasting meat to make a thick sauce, and boils it over the coals. He makes rice in a separate pot, and serves it to Vaas who is lying naked on the sand in the setting sun. 

His facial hair is growing, as is Jason’s, and his goatee is losing definition. He smiles at Jason as he eats, and Jason can’t help but lean forward and kiss his mouth again. 

He supposes he is feeling fond out of his guilt. He doesn’t know how he got off the hook so easily. 

They finish and Jason throws away the leftovers, leaving the pots to soak in the ocean overnight again. He sits by Vaas, watching the water, feeling strangely protective. 

“You should have kept the head,” he says. 

“Hmm?” says Vaas, as if lost in thought.

“The head. Of the boar. You could have put it on the wall with the others.” 

“Oh,” says Vaas. He seems to consider. “Yeah. Maybe. I didn’t think of it. That might have been a good idea.”

He goes quiet again, and Jason frowns, feeling like he has said the wrong thing.

He helps Vaas into bed. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs again, holding Vaas against him. “I ruined it.” 

Vaas smiles against his cheek. “No, _hermano_. You’re fine.” To prove it he kisses Jason again, and in apology Jason rolls over, showing his back, lifts his leg and rubs the last of the coconut oil into the crack of his arse. Vaas accepts, and guides the head of his cock inside from behind, moving slowly as he kisses the back of Jason’s neck. He can’t quite build up enough rhythm to come, and after Jason jerks himself off he rolls over and finishes Vaas, pretending not to notice the wince of pain on the other man’s face as he clenches with release. 

 

**On the seventh day** Jason awakens to find Vaas packing. He lies back for a moment, feeling emotional, before he gets up and blearily struggles into his clothes.

He helps with the packing. Their rubbish goes into a plastic bag. He takes the sheets off the bed and rolls their dirty clothes into it to be washed later. The fleece blanket is folded neatly and stacked into the blanket box with the pillows. He finds the cooking pots and wipes them dry with a corner of the dirty sheet. Vaas even goes to the patch of nearby scrub and cuts some dry grasses to make a whisk, and sweeps the floor clean. 

Jason packs the last of the sacks onto the boat and makes sure they have their weapons. Standing up in the boat, he sees Vaas lingering in the doorway of the shack, looking in, holding a bottle with the last of their scotch. Jason splashes across the rocks and approaches cautiously. 

Vaas has stuffed a length of cloth into the bottle and is holding a lighter in one hand. The neck of the bottle has been taped up. He flicks the lighter open and closed absent-mindedly. His breathing is heavy, a frayed edge to each inhalation. 

“Vaas,” says Jason softly. The other man gives no indication he has heard. Jason reaches out and puts a comforting hand on the small of his back.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Jason murmurs, leaning close to Vaas’ ear. “I had a wonderful time.” Still nothing. “I’d love to come back here sometimes. With you. Wouldn’t you like to come back? With me?”

Vaas inclines his head slightly, looking at Jason from the corner of one black-ringed eye.

“We move on,” Jason whispers, moving so his lips are against Vaas’ neck. His eyes are burning and his nose begins to drip. “Don’t burn it, baby. Please. Why can’t this be our place now?” 

He holds his breath while Vaas considers. He flicks the lighter again, and again. The sharp clink is the only sound in the world.

The lump in Jason’s throat is threatening to boil over when he feels Vaas’ shoulders droop. He shifts, putting the lighter in his pocket. Strips off the tape and pulls the cloth from the bottle, and takes a long swig. “Waste of good piss anyway, man,” he says, wheezing and red-eyed from what is almost certainly the burn of the alcohol. He turns slightly, still stiff, one arm open, and Jason melts into his side. They stand in the doorway like a pair of departing honeymooners, staring into the tiny bare room where they have spent the last week, finishing the scotch. Vaas steps inside and puts the empty bottle on the card table. “We’ll put flowers or some shit like that in it next time,” he says, turning to look at Jason with a small smile, and Jason can’t help but kiss him. 

Vaas steers the boat away while Jason sits in the prow, looking back and watching the shack disappear as they follow the coast line back to the pirate compound, mind full of questions he’ll never ask.


	7. Recapture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end.

They don’t get far. 

The sparkling light of the early morning and the sharp sea scent are what Jason notices the most, as he looks back and feels the bottom drop out of his world. They are being followed.

Jason has brought weapons, but the others are unarmed and completely vulnerable as their decrepit craft is flanked by no less than seven patrol boats. They’re not fast, but Jason’s boat is even slower. All are mounted with guns, all staffed with pirates wearing red and black. 

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Daisy repeats over and over, not even aware she is speaking, twisting the wheel in a futile hope that they can somehow dodge or outrun their pursuers. Jason steps next to her, puts his hand over hers. There is no point.

A part of him, the monster inside, is writhing in joy. 

It’s not over. They’re going to die, or they’re going back, or they’re going back and then they’re going to die.

He tries to stamp on it. 

Daisy turns her candy-blue eyes to him, wide in stricken terror. He nods, slightly, and she kills the throttle. 

Two of the patrol boats pull up alongside, spilling half a dozen heavily-armed pirates onto the dilapidated grotto boat. Jason puts up his hands, slowly, motioning for the others to do the same. Two men step behind him and clap hands on his shoulders, forcing him to his knees. Daisy squeals.

“Jaaaaaaaason.” Soft, just audible over the sea and wind and creaking boats and movement of heavy bodies.

Numbness. He’s not even surprised. 

He closes his eyes, takes a slow, shuddering breath. Keeps them closed as he feels a presence, just in front of him. Hears Liza gasp in shock. Feels a touch, a knuckle on his cheek, tracing down through his stubble and down his neck and chest. The hand stops, nips quickly into his shirt pocket. Takes his phone. 

He opens his eyes. Looks up, squinting in the brightness of the dawn.

Vaas is shirtless and heavy bandages cross over his chest. His left arm is held in place across his body with a sling. His dressings are clean, professional-looking. The man himself looks tired, the shadows on the planes of his handsome face deeper in the early-morning sun, but his amber eyes sparkle with mischief. 

“Not gonna say hello, motherfucker? To me, back from the fucking dead?”

Jason can’t speak. He just can’t.

Vaas nods slowly, acceptingly. Jason notices everything, body in full hyper-aware fight-or-flight mode, takes it all in, from the maniac’s earrings to his boots, to the stiff way he holds his upper body, to the way his hips shift minutely with the rocking of the boat. 

Vaas looks down at Jason’s phone, going through the contacts. He finds what he is looking for and holds it up for Jason’s attention. Twiddles it in his fingers. 

The phone book display says ‘Mom’.

“I’m gonna make a call, Jason,” says Vaas. “And I’m gonna talk to your mama. She had three boys, yes? Okay.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and back again, his tone genial. As if he is proposing something perfectly reasonable. “Your brother Grant. He’s dead. Nothing we can do about that. I killed him. But now, I’m gonna do something for her. For your mama. Because I killed her boy. Her firstborn, yes? Yes. I’m gonna give her one of her boys back. Today. One of her boys is going on a boat ride, and a plane ride, and she’ll be holding her baby in a day or two. Safe and sound. I’ll make sure of it.” He cocks his head. “She had three boys last week. Now she has one. The thing is, which one does she get back?” 

Jason’s heart can’t sink any lower, but he feels a cold crackle in his chest. 

“I’ll even sweeten the deal, _hermano_.” Vaas crouches now, awkwardly, holding the phone up to his ear, as if he’s about to speak on it any moment. “I’ll let her choose.”

“No!” 

Jason looks past Vaas, to Riley, standing near the side of the boat where his friends are gathered in a protective huddle, his young face twitching with horror and anguish. Riley looks like he’s about to be sick. Like he’s about to lose it completely. 

“No?” Vaas’ tone is deceptively light. “You gonna choose for her?” He leans down. “Which of you was her favourite, I wonder?”

“Fuck you.” His nose is running, eyes burning. They were so close.

Vaas doesn’t reply. He just waits. 

No point delaying. He was mad to think the universe would permit him to leave. “I’ll stay.”

There is shouting. Daisy, Oliver, Riley. Liza looks like she knew this was coming already, from the defeated slope of her shoulders. She looks like she just wants it to be over. Anything, anything for it to be over. Daisy is glaring, defiant. She’s the one who’s had the least contact with the pirates. Oliver just looks confused. And Jason can’t fault Keith for wincing, like he wants to curl up into a ball and wait for release or death, not caring which. He’s the most traumatised. 

“You’ll stay? You volunteer?” Vaas is smiling softly, examining Jason’s face. “Will your mama appreciate that, I wonder? Will she be relieved?”

“You take Riley. You take all of them. You let them go.”

“Hmm.” Vaas sits down opposite Jason, cross-legged, grunting, moving clumsily with one arm. “I won’t lie, Jason, I am willing to let them go in exchange for you. And I’ll make sure they’re safe. But… how can I trust you? You caused a fuck-ton of trouble. How do I know you won’t try anything again? Because if you say you’ll stay, I want you to mean it.” He gestures at Jason with the phone, emphasizing his words with pointing. “You’ll be mine. I’m going to keep you. And you’ll come quietly. You’ll be quiet. You’ll be good. You’ll listen. You do whatever I say.” He waggles the phone again, looking at Jason from under his eyebrows. “Because I know your mama, Jason. I know where she lives. Where all your mamas live. I got people in your United States. I got people everywhere. If I think you’re trying to get away from me, if you’re even thinking of fucking up my shit, I’ll send my people in. Maybe one of you can slip away and hide, but not all. Anyway, there’s always a friend. A lover. A brother. A cousin. A fucking neighbour. I don’t care. You slip up, people die. You escape, people die. You kill yourself, people die. And as for you” – he turns his head toward Riley – “you try coming back for him, people die. You can tell the cops whatever you want. They won’t come here. And maybe if you can get someone to listen to you, if I see any feds, anyone tries to take me down, or take my pretty white boy away…” he chuckles, turns his eyes back on Jason. “I will fuck everything in your world.”

Riley is crying now, open-mouthed and sobbing. He was always such an ugly crier. 

“I promise.” Jason can barely get the words out, the feeling in his chest choking his throat impossible to fully identify. Vaas nods sagely without pause, as if he expected nothing else. 

“It’s not all bad,” Vaas reassures Riley, climbing slowly to his feet. “I’ll look after him. I’ll feed him and walk him. I’ll take care of all of you, too. Keep tabs on you. Anyone hassle you, I’ll know. I’ll take care of it.” He steps toward Riley and puts a hand on his shoulder. Kindly, fraternal. “You say goodbye to your brother. I know you love him very much. And your other brother, Grant. Jason killed my sister, you know?” His tone is light, conversational. “Citra. Did you know she was my sister? I loved her, once. I loved her more than anything. We all lost someone.” 

Riley isn’t listening. He pushes past Vaas and falls to his knees roughly beside Jason. He throws his arms around his shoulders and keens loudly into his neck, all attempts at bravado gone.

A step, and what sounds like a scuffle. “You.” Vaas’ voice is harsh. “Not you.” Jason looks up, peers through Riley’s hair. He’s grabbed Liza, holding her upper arm roughly. She squeaks in fear, and steps back. “That’s right.” Vaas pushes her away, into Daisy’s protective embrace. “He’s not yours any more.” 

“I’ll stay too,” Riley gulps, his arms locked possessively around Jason, tears streaming down Jason’s neck. “I can’t leave you.”

Vaas turns and regards them, smirking. 

“No!” Jason grabs Riley’s shoulders and pulls him away, holding him almost nose-to-nose. “You go home. You take care of mom. You take care of everyone. Just…” he looks sideways at Vaas. “Just get everyone into therapy or something, okay? Tell the cops what they need to know. Vaas is right. They won’t come here.” 

“But…” Riley snivels. “What do I tell mom?”

What indeed? “Tell her I died. Tell her I died with Grant.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Vaas comes over, hoists Riley up by his shirt collar. “That’s not the kind of lie you tell your mama. No. You tell her that her second baby is alive and well, and living it up with me. I said I’ll look after him.” He takes Riley by the shoulder again, as if giving him a man-to-man talk. “You tell her your brother stayed behind to save everyone else. He’s a hero. You Americans love heroes.” 

Riley gives Vaas a look of absolute hatred. Jason starts to worry that in a second he’ll do something stupid, like take a swing at the pirate. “But you can mourn him, right? You’ll not see him again. And if I ever see you here again, I’ll kill you. You hear me? I’ll know you’re coming, and I’ll fucking kill you before you even set foot on my island.” 

Vaas leans back, smiling amiably. “That’s it. It’s been a long couple of weeks, friends. Now you have to go, go home to your families, and your studies, and your houses, and your cars, and your jobs.” He spreads his good arm wide, a celebration. “Your shopping malls, your movies, your gyms, your beauty salons, your golf.” He laughs, loud, and motions his head toward Jason. The two men holding him stand, dragging him up with them. Liza whimpers. 

“Now,” he says to Riley, as Jason is manhandled onto the patrol boat. “Some of my boys will stay with you. Take you all the way back to Bangkok. You go straight to the embassy. They’ll help you get home.” He turns to leave, to follow onto the other boat. 

“Stop!” Liza cries, struggling to step forward as Daisy holds her back. “Please! Why are you doing this?”

Vaas turns and looks at her. Jason gasps as he’s thrown onto the deck of other boat, willing her to just fucking shut up and go. It’s different now, that he’s moved boats. It makes it more final, somehow. The feeling of panicked desperation, as if he were late to a very important appointment, fades to nothing, leaving dead acceptance behind. 

“Honour,” Vaas says, after a pause. “Payment. Revenge. Because I feel like it. Because I can.” He turns, dismissively. “Pick one.”

Liza is crying now, her face screwed up. “Please don’t take him.”

Vaas has had enough, and ignores her this time. He turns his back on her, leaving several men behind on the boat. One takes the controls, and another helps Vaas step onto the patrol boat. Jason struggles to his feet, wrenching his arms free of the two pirates behind him. He wants to watch them leave, make sure they’re okay. 

He feels calmer. Like it’s over. In a way, it is. 

The boat from the grotto begins to move, as does another of the patrol boats to accompany it. Liza and Riley are sobbing brokenly. Keith, Oliver and Daisy look on, faces in varying poses of grief. Vaas steps behind Jason, pressing his chest with his wrapped arm against his back, watching as the boats move away. 

“I chased you over a cliff. Burned you. Drowned you. Blew you out of the sky. Shot you. Buried you. And you keep coming back.”

Vaas’ chin is on his shoulder. Jason stands stock still, watching the other boat. The white sun on the water is searing his eyes. 

“I think that means you’re meant to live. Really live, here in the islands, not that California way.”

Vaas puts his good arm around his waist, first resting a hand on Jason’s hip, then winding across his belly. He feels a light sweep across his left forearm as Vaas strokes a finger across his fresh tattoos. It’s intimate, frightening. Jason shivers.

“She was going to make a warrior out of you, Jason.”

_(“Citra is convinced you will be the most powerful warrior of the tribe.”)_

“She was going to make a legend out of you.”

_(“All the tatau will be yours.”)_

Lips against the sensitive spot under his ear, sending tremours through his centre. “And you know the quickest way to make someone into a legend, don’t you Jason?”

Jason’s throat seizes up in horror, his sinuses flooding with imminent tears, because he does know. 

_(“I will lead you to glory!”)_

He’s never felt so stupid in his entire life.


	8. Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I ended up splitting this chapter in two. Finale is still to come.

“Tonight,” she murmurs, honey-brown eyes hard and unblinking, filling his vision. “Are you sure you can manage? Because if you’re not sure, you can just slip away. We’ll find you eventually if you hide for a week or two.”

“No,” he whispers, feeling her warm breath on his face, against his mouth. It’s quite disagreeable – he’s always hated breathing other people’s air. “He’ll kill my family and friends if he lives. Him, or someone else. It has to be quick, quick and thorough.”

She nods, nose brushing against his cheek. He can feel her large breasts against his chest. Her hip is fleshy under his hand. 

“Okay. You take care of him in your bedroom. He trusts you enough, I can see that. Give him a really good fuck beforehand so he’s deep asleep.” Her voice is edged with bitterness – doubtless she’s experienced sexual trauma at some point in her life. “It’s okay, you know? The chains he had on you… it’s so easy for them to move into the mind. It’s normal to have misgivings. It’s normal for kidnap victims to not take opportunities to escape, even if they’re a sure thing.” She shifts against him. He can feel the heat of her crotch where his knee is pressed between her legs, even through her cargo pants. “It’s going to be all right. We’ll get you home, and then you can take as much time as you need. We’ll get you through this. I promise.” 

He smirks as she moves her face even closer, lips brushing his. “Are you a psych as well?” 

He feels her smile. “Maybe I am.” She presses her lips against his, chaste and closed at first, then growing more heated as she licks into his mouth. 

Her eyes are closed. Jason returns the kiss, tilting his head to scan around them for anyone watching. 

They’re in a thick patch of jungle just near the river – so near Jason can hear the trickle of running water. They are within a few yards of the pale stone of the privateer temporary quarters. Jason has seen inside. It’s neat, with bunk beds and stashes of ammo. 

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, then resumes kissing. Jason realises his mind was wandering. Obediently he lifts a hand and cups one of her breasts, thumbing at the large nipple which stiffens immediately. She moans, moving her hips against his thigh.

There is a shot, some distance away, but startling enough for them to leap apart. Jason’s head snaps toward the sound. She’s gasping, her gold skin flushed and wiry copper hair pulling free of her hair tie. She fixes it quickly. 

“I have to go,” he hisses, and melts back into the jungle – immediately, it would seem, for her eyes widen at how quickly he disappears. It is just as well. He can hear chatter as the rest of the privateers pass close by, returning from a quick trip to restock their booze and cigarettes while she watched the boat. He’d set up this rendezvous some days prior. 

He creeps back to the compound the long way, picking through scrub, enjoying being alone in the soft, dry heat. His pulse, which was quiet throughout his encounter with her, begins to pick up again as he approaches the place he has called home for the last month. He walks boldly through the front gates, and the guards step back to let him in. Not even the guard dog gives him side-eye.

There aren’t many people around as he strolls through the building, climbing the stairs to his room. It’s private, away from the rest of the ‘staff’. They all look away from him as he passes, and he ignores them right back. He pauses before he enters the room, then cracks open the door to peer inside. Vaas is absent, which is irritating. His sense of calm has vanished and now his skin feels alive with an itch just under the surface. Restless, he paces back and forth for a few minutes, unsure of how long he will have to wait. 

Their quarters in the south are luxurious in comparison to their room at the pirate compound. There’s a king-size bed with fresh linen, a well-stocked kitchenette, a clean bathroom and even a wardrobe. There’s a bear skin on the floor too. Vaas enjoys fucking him on it, lying together on the coarse fur, Vaas’ penis fully sheathed as Jason laps at his nipples.

He is too wired to wait in an empty room. He has to move, walk, hunt, run, swim, something. As his hand alights on the door handle, however, it swings into the room and knocks him off his feet. 

Vaas pounces on him immediately. “You fuck! You _fuck!_ ” he shrieks, incapable of coherent speech in his beserker rage. He fists his hands in Jason’s worn shirt, lifting him off the ground so they are nose-to-nose. “I can fucking smell the cunt on you!” He lets go, cocks a fist, but Jason grabs his arm and Vaas falls across his body. He tries to scramble to his feet, but the pirate grabs his neck. 

“Vaas!” he burbles, and the other man manages to land a punch above his eye as he scrambles to sit on Jason’s stomach. Jason kicks feebly. He’s choking. 

“That stinking bitch is dead,” Vaas screams in his face. “I’m going to knife her right in her rotten old puss and hack off her nips and feed them to the dogs!” 

Jason manages to lift a hand and grab a hunk of Vaas’ messy mowhawk. He rips hard to one side, dislodging his attacker the slightest bit. It gives him what he needs to buck upward and gasp for breath, flipping onto his side and sending Vaas over onto his belly, on the bearskin rug.

The pirate screams as Jason flops on top of him. “Stop it!” Jason wheezes. “Just stop it, you crazy fuck!” 

“You kissed her!” Vaas squawks, trying to wrench free, and Jason is astonished when he lets out a loud sob. “You fucking touched her up.” He stills, turns, glares at Jason with red-rimmed eyes over his shoulder. “Took everything I had not to get that bitch in the head.” 

“That gunshot was you?” Jason marvels, not for the first time, at how Vaas can move unseen and unheard. “You followed us? You weren’t supposed to follow us!” 

“I had good reason to!” Vaas begins to thrash, ripping up clumps of animal hair with his scrabbling fingers. “I’m going to cut your fucking hand off and fry the stump on the stove and then I’ll make her eat it and then I’ll rip out all her fucking dirty teeth and crush them!” 

Jason snarls, grabbing Vaas by the hair again and trying to put his hand over his mouth, shoving his fingers under the top lip to avoid biting. “Shut up,” he hisses. “The whole fucking island can hear you. What if they come here and she hears you? You’ll ruin everything.” 

Vaas is not in the mood to listen to reason, snapping and bucking. Jason jumps up abruptly and gives him a hard kick in the abdomen. He’s in no mood either. 

“Tonight,” he barks as Vaas doubles over in pain and grief. “Maria’s people are coming tonight. Just a few hours from now, at dusk. The boat is landing near one of the outposts on the north-west. Near the mouth of the river at Spine Ridge. There’s only a dozen, but they’re trained. Night vision goggles and animal repellent, silent sniper weapons, all that surreptitious shit. They’ll come over the top of the hills. First they’ll come here and take out as many as they can quietly. I’m supposed to meet them nearby and take them to the new communications array. Show them how to scramble it so no one can call for help. I’ve already told Maria all about it.” 

He bends down, staring coldly. He’s furious, so furious, he wants to kick Vaas until he’s broken. “I’m supposed to kill you tonight. Knife you in your sleep before they arrive. It’s a fucking stupid place to land, right? I’d land on the south-east. Way less people, closer to the satellites, and no fucking mountains. Just the dragons to worry about.” He stands upright, breathing heavily and swaying. His forehead hurts and he thinks his eyebrow is split. “That’s my intel. Do with it what you will.” 

He turns on his heel and stalks away, into the bathroom, leaving Vaas gasping on the rug. He slams the door and leans against it, sliding to the tiled floor. He feels like screaming, but settles for letting a few small sobs escape. He’s exhausted, and at the same time wound up so tight he doesn’t even know how to release it. 

Choice. Everything is about choice. 

_“She’s a spy,” Hoyt tells them both in his rasping voice. He’s in the compound, in a room surrounded by plastic sheets, hooked up to a complicated set of machines and oxygen tubes in his nose. Jason hacked up a few important organs pretty good. Jason is standing with Vaas, feeling hollow and emotionless as he gazes on Hoyt. Vaas has his hand on the small of his back, tracing small circles with his fingers. It is comforting._

_“She’s from the Caribbean originally. Moved to America and got citizenship with her family when she was a kid. Then she was in the US army for years, low rank, nothing major. She left, got a new name, and started out with some kind of animal liberation group. Militant activists, you know? Moved into merc work from there. She’s not affiliated with Willis… something else. Could even be an animal lib group, though I doubt it. Eco-terrorists. Fucking crazy, the lot of them. Disorganised.” Hoyt coughs and hacks. His scrawny face is ghostly pale, even after a year._

_“Who fucking cares?” says Vaas blithely. “What’s one bitch gonna do?”_

_“_ Your _bitch did a fuck of a lot of damage, Vaas” Hoyt snaps. Vaas’ had tightens in Jason’s shirt, possessive. “Shut your mouth and fucking listen. She’s gathering information and I think she’s going to organize some kind of strike. I’ve been happy to let her go so far, but now I need someone to get something out of her. Not your way, either, Vaas.” His cold eyes find Jason’s. “Jason Brody is a prisoner. She knows it. Hasn’t seen much of you, in fact I think she’s only seen you once. I want you two to stay here for a while. Jason, I want you to make friends with her.”_

_Jason blanches. “Are you fucking kidding me? How am I gonna do that? And how are you even sure she’s up to something?”_

_“She sabotaged a hunt. Released a gold tiger that was supposed to go to a private zoo in Dubai. That thing was worth a lot of money. Thank fuck the lieutenant who saw her reported her to me instead of confronting her.”_

_“So how do you know this isn’t the end of it? That she’s not here just to disrupt the trapping?”_

_Hoyt wheezes. He’s running out of energy. “I can tell, okay? You think this is the first time something like this has happened? I know when someone is screwing me. I make sure to meet all the recruits and the way she looked at me… such hate. Tried to disguise it, but you can tell. I knew she’d be up to something. And besides, she’s been observed sneaking out at night, talking on a private phone she’s not meant to have. She’s building up to something.”_

_“What is Jason supposed to do?” Vaas asks, tone dark. He’s not happy._

_Hoyt has had enough. “Make friends. Get information. Find out what she’s up to. Give her the rope she needs – I don’t just want to kill her, I want to dig out her nest. Get her to trust you. Fuck her if you need to,” he snarls. Vaas goes very still._

_“And you’re actually trusting me with this?” Jason can’t believe it._

_“Fuck off.” Hoyt slumps down further into his crisp white pillows, exhausted. “I can do this a number of ways, but this is most likely to succeed. Do whatever you have to do.”_

Jason had accepted his mission more readily than he had thought possible, had accepted it even before he left the room. Having something to do was good. Better than good. 

The biggest problem was Vaas. 

His pirate lover had taken it badly. Had been seething with jealousy all the way back to their room, whereupon he had immediately jumped on Jason for savage, possessive midday sex. It had been painful, but good, and afterward Vaas had held him close and peppered his forehead with kisses. 

“You won’t leave me, will you Jason?” he’d whispered, breath cool and soft on the other man’s skin. 

Jason had thought to reply with “how can I?” but it didn’t seem appropriate somehow. He’d looked at Vaas’ face, smooth skin burnished in the noon light, amber eyes sorrowful and hurt, crazed demanour absent, strangely normal… and he’d remembered that Vaas probably wasn’t even thirty years old yet. 

He’d responded with a kiss, and another, and another until they had both fallen asleep slowly lapping into each other’s mouths. 

He reflects now, from the floor of the bathroom, that Hoyt had been truthful with his end game, but omitting some of his motives and intentions. It was beyond likely that Hoyt had enjoyed the thought of messing with Vaas, reminding the pirate that despite his infirm state, Hoyt was still very much in charge. That Vaas’ kept lover was really Hoyt’s property, to use as he saw fit, to return at his own pleasure. 

The thought makes Jason’s skin prickle. To be twice a spoil of war, twice a lesser being, twice a slave? No, not twice. He can believe that Vaas’ affection for him is genuine, and has been growing over the past few months. Their recent week’s getaway had been incredible, the hottest sex holiday he’d ever had – or had been able to imagine. He’d been carefully pushing the thought of _how could I ever want to sleep with anyone else ever again?_ out of his head before it could fully arrive, not wanting to deal with the emotional impact it was sure to have. Now, sitting on the cold floor listening to Vaas’ enraged sobs in the next room, he wonders. 

He thinks of his conversation with Maria. 

He thinks of Vaas’ jealousy. 

He thinks of her kiss, objectionably hot and moist and tasting of the curry she had for lunch, so unlike the cool cleanliness of Vaas’ mouth. 

He thinks of other, sweeter kisses in a sweaty pub, a man he’d killed moments before on the floor, and the smell of blood and smoke and beer. 

He thinks of Vaas on his back atop a dead pig, screaming and covered with blood, coming hard as Jason fucks him. 

He thinks of a precipice, chains, a choice he’d been unable to appreciate at the time, and pain. 

He thinks of killing Vaas. 

He thinks of leaving.


	9. Betrayal

He didn’t even have to set up a meeting with her. Incredibly, she sought him out. 

_It is two days after their meeting with Hoyt and Jason is sitting on their balcony, overlooking the courtyard one storey below, still wet with morning dew. A squad of privateers distracts him from his book –_ Spanish for Dummies _– and he sees her in the throng. She is looking right at him, eyes narrow. He keeps his gaze on hers, even when Vaas appears behind him and puts his arm across Jason’s shoulders. Jason ignores him, maintaining eye contact until she passes beneath him. Turning, Jason can’t help but bark in laughter when he sees that Vaas is naked._

_“Your shoulder hid my prick. Most of it.” Vaas’ eyes are sparkling, and he leads Jason to the shower where he spends a good fifteen minutes lapping at the semen seeping from Jason’s sore rectum until Jason is keening and pushing his arse against Vaas’ face, teetering on the edge of orgasm but unable to arrive. The pirate then soaps them both up and sucks huge love bites into Jason’s neck as he jerks them both with one hand, growling against Jason’s skin as they come together, ropy white streaks disappearing quickly under the spray of the shower._

_Good as it is, Jason knows full well that he is being claimed. It makes it easier later, when she seeks him out in the dark corridors of the compound that evening._

_Passing by a store room on his way to get their meals, a hiss gets his attention. He doesn’t even have to pretend to be bewildered as she grabs his arm and pulls him into the room to a musty supply closet._

_The first thing he notices is the peppering of freckles across her nose as she pricks a knife into his abdomen. “You’re a prisoner here.” Her eyes seem to be fixated on his necklace of bruises, evident on his pale skin even in the thin yellow light of the bulb overhead. It is low enough on its cord that he can feel it brushing against his hair. “Answer me!”_

_He holds her eyes, affect flat and unimpressed. “Yes.”_

_“How long have you been here?”_

_“Nearly a year.”_

_“Why?”_

_“I was traded for the lives of my brother and girlfriend. And my three other friends.”_

_Incredulous. “He let them go? For you?”_

_“Not all. He killed one of my friends. And my other brother. I got away. Caused some trouble for him. There were six of us left. We nearly got free, but he caught up. Offered to let them go in exchange for me. Keeping me here is a long-term punishment. More satisfying than killing me.” He keeps emotion out of his tone. Let her believe him traumatised. Isn’t he, though?_

_“Why don’t you run away?”_

_“If I do, he’ll kill them. Then there will be nothing to go back to anyway.”_

_“Why not kill him, then run away?”_

_No need to consider his reply. “It’s not worth it for what will happen if I don’t succeed. People will die if I fail. This is how I keep them safe.” She is staring at him. Sucked in – good. He presses a little more, allowing some pain into his voice. “And even if I kill him, he’s probably left instructions with God knows how many others here – or even in the US – to find my friends and family if something happens to him. I can’t make any plans. I can’t get a message to them. I couldn’t even get off the Rooks if I tried. There’s nothing I can do. Except stay right here where he wants me and hope he doesn’t get bored of me.”_

_Her eyes are shining, and Jason realized that she is… kind. A good person._

_Shit. This makes everything both easier and harder._

_“Is anything that you’re saying to me untrue?” Her commanding voice has faded, and it is more of a question. The knife’s pressure has eased away._

_“I don’t need to lie to you. Or anyone.”_

_She leans in closer. “What if I can help you?”_

_Unbelievable. “No one can help me. I’ve taken a year to get this far. I can accept it, okay? It’s all I’ve got and I can’t cause any trouble. Do whatever you’re here to do, but leave me the fuck alone.” He pushes away, opens the door. Stalks a few paces, and when she doesn’t call him back, he goes to the canteen to get their dinner trays._

_He eats with Vaas naked in bed that night watching_ Breaking Bad _, until Vaas begins to fondle him under the covers. Some time later, when they are both hard and slick, kissing and rubbing their silky erections together as they each thrust two fingers into each other’s holes, Jason takes the plunge._

_“Let me fuck you,” he gasps, rolling his hips. “Please. I want you so bad.” He twists his fingers. Vaas groans. “Please.”_

_There had been a dangerous pause. Then, without a word, Vaas had rolled onto his back, allowing Jason to mount him. And it was incredible, Jason still hard afterwards as he moaned an apology into Vaas’ ear for coming inside him. Vaas bit his shoulder in response, hard, his own semen slimy between their bellies._

_Jason’s gamble pays off handsomely. He makes a habit of fetching dinner, and it is only another three days before she is pulling him into the store room’s closet again._

_“Hear me out,” she whispers harshly, hand over his mouth. “Don’t say anything. I’ve only got a few seconds, so shut up. I can help you. I have people. I promise. If you help me. I’ve heard stories about you. You’ve been everywhere. You blew up the dope fields and the communications centre and the logging camp and the fuel depot and half the fucking airport. You know the layout of the Rook islands better than anyone. You know all the weak points, the hiding spots, the unmarked posts.”_

_He scowls to hide his elation. “I told you…”_

_“Shut up!” Urgent, desperate. Her fingers are hurting his jaw. “I swear I can help you. And you can help me. With you, everything will happen ten times faster. I’ll come for you again, just promise me you’ll think about it.” She releases him and steps back, towards the door. Pauses for a second._

_“Maria,” she says. Almost shyly._

_“Jason,” he replies slowly._

_“I know.” She slips through the door, and he waits a few minutes before he follows._

_Vaas spends most of the next afternoon sulking. “I’m bored,” he complains as Jason’s head bobs between his legs. “Have you met with that bitch yet?”_

_Jason sits up on the bed, wiping his sore mouth. He’s been fellating Vaas for the best part of half an hour, and though the pirate is good and hard, he is in a terrible mood and his mind is clearly elsewhere. “Yeah, I got her name. Not much else.” He grips Vaas’ cock, stroking it, not sure of his own unwillingness to divulge. “I’m working on it.”_

_“When?”_

_“When what?”_

_“When did you speak to her?”_

_This is going to end badly no matter which way he goes. “Last night.”_

_Vaas knocks his hand away in anger, jumps off the bed and starts dragging his clothes on._

_“Vaas? Baby, come on.”_

_“Don’t you fucking tell me what to do,” Vaas snarls, awkwardly zipping his fly over his erection. He wrenches open the door and stalks away._

_Angry and upset, Jason sits on the bed, pondering. Should he ask Hoyt to give Vaas a task, to get him off Jason’s back? No. He doesn’t want to ask Hoyt for any favours, and besides, he feels protective of his relationship. He doesn’t like the idea of Hoyt knowing that they are having domestic problems. For one thing it sounds ridiculous, and for another, losing Vaas as an ally would be the worst thing that could possibly happen to him. Their sort-of mutual relationship may have been unexpected, but it is no one else’s business and it certainly works in his favour._

_So Jason jerks off to calm himself, and spends the rest of the afternoon in their room. At sunset the privateers begin a friendly sparring session in the courtyard, which turns decidedly unfriendly when Vaas appears, shirtless with taped knuckles, and looking to blow off some steam. The first opponent has to be dragged away within a few minutes, whimpering through a nose that no longer looks anything like a human nose. Vaas has started on the second when Jason, watching through the window, breathing heavily and embarrassed by his stirring cock, hears the door click._

_“Talk,” he says, without turning around._

_She talks, quickly, voice low._

_“I was in the army for some years and I acquired a set of useful skills. I joined a group after I left, fighting for animal rights. But they were fucking useless. Trying to do everything the long way, while animals suffered. There was an orangutan in Borneo that was being kept in a brothel. She’d been there for years. I spent months with them while they tried to cut through red tape to free her. It was fucking shit. So I found another group. My team went in there and shot up the place to get her out.”_

_Her voice is full of bitter pride. “We got her to a sanctuary. We pulled a few more jobs. Then a few years ago, an outside party agreed to fund this operation to cripple the Rook Island pirates. Stop the export of exotic animals – there’s an incredible number of wild species on these islands, for a place so small.”_

_Jason thinks of his skin-crafted pouches, quivers, holsters and wallets. “Yeah. There’s a lot of them.”_

_“This operation has been in the planning stages for four years, not meant to strike for another two. But last year a massive shift happened. Hoyt was almost killed and the cartel was in disarray. We didn’t know what happened until I found out a few weeks ago. They’re weak and vulnerable. We’ve accelerated our schedule. My team are waiting. And we have you.”_

_So Hoyt was right about the eco-terrorists. Jason has to snort with laughter – not only that the exploitation of wildlife is prioritised over human trafficking, drugs, weapons and Hoyt’s genocidal attempts to exterminate the Rakyat; but that she is so naïve she’d not considered that their funding body doubtlessly has their eyes on the drugs and arms trade as soon as Hoyt is toppled; animals be damned. Many of the privateers would barely notice their new employer._

_“You know that there are two islands, right?” he argues. “Here, it’s the privateers. They’re organized and professional. In the north, it’s the pirates. Not nearly as organized, but way more of them. You can’t just strike here.”_

_“But the leader of the north island is here. Right in our hands.” She’s gazing at him, failing to keep the awe out of her voice. Jason had single-handedly almost accomplished in a week what they had been planning for years._

_“It’s like a hydra,” he protests. “No matter who you kill, two more will take their place. There are so many pirates and mercs here. I thought I had the place clear, or close to it, but more came swarming in. And if you kill the leaders, they will disband into factions. They’ll be even worse because there won’t be one organisation here. It will take decades to reclaim this place. And then… reclaim for whom? The locals? Have you even tried talking with them about the wildlife?”_

_Her manner is dismissive. “No, you never know who is in cahoots with the pirates. And we can work all that other stuff out. My people are in discussions.”_

_He has no idea if he is lying or telling the truth or even half-truths any more. “Maria, if this goes belly-up, so will I. And everyone I’ve ever cared about. I can’t risk it.”_

_“Don’t you understand?” She is getting frustrated. “You can be free! You can leave! Back to the United States. To your girlfriend and brother. I’m sure I can find out about them for you before we leave-“_

_“No.” The words are out before he could stop himself. She blinks, startled and confused. He tries to rally. “Just… too soon, okay? I can’t deal with that. I don’t want to talk about them. Not yet.” She frowns, not understanding, but nods._

_There is silence for a moment, broken by Vaas’ triumphant scream from the courtyard below and a roar from the men._

_“You’d better go,” Jason says._

_She nods, standing._

_“Wait,” he says. Hesitates. “When?”_

_She smiles, broad face suddenly beautiful in the blue twilight. “Soon, Jason Brody. Very soon.”_

_She’s barely been gone for two minutes when Vaas bursts in. There are splashes of blood on his face and chest. He approaches then stops at the bed, breathing heavily._

_Jason stands. Walks over to the bed, slowly. Puts a finger to Vaas’ smooth chest, running his fingers through the blood. Stopping at each scar he knows he had caused, raking his fingernails over them lightly._

_Vaas doesn’t last long before dragging Jason toward him for a savage kiss, and Jason feels something unclench in his chest._

The bathroom is cold, and he can’t hear Vaas any more. He feels numb, like he did when all this started.

He’d met with Maria a few more times over the next few weeks. Whispered conversations in doorways. Providing snippets of intel she should know already. How many men are usually stationed at the communication works. The shipping routes for the drug cargo. The rarest species on the island, and where they occur. She was careless, seeking him out regularly, and Jason had been disappointed at her foolishness. She was clearly lonely, and as the days went on, clearly enamoured of him. 

Jason had gone along with it, like he went along with everything. Allowing his mind to fog, going through the motions, blinding himself to outcomes and consequences. He never delivered one report to Hoyt, and Hoyt never asked. Nor did Vaas, whose behavior quickly became more erratic. Jason suspected his drug use, which hadn’t even noticed had waned to almost nothing, had increased again. The two of them went from spending hours in bed together one day to not speaking the next. Vaas often stayed away an entire night, returning in any one of a dozen different moods, usually ready to fuck. 

“What do you want?” he’d barked at Jason a few nights prior, pounding into him from behind on the rug. “Eh? What do you really fucking want, Jason? That bitch? The other bitch, the wannabe actress? Freedom? The island? Your California? Your mama? You wanna rule the Rooks? You want to travel the world? You want to die?” His grip is hard on Jason’s cock, cutting off his impending orgasm. It’s unbearable. 

“I don’t know!” Jason squeals, the truest thing he’s said in a year. 

“Answer me,” Vaas growls, shifting his hips so his cock head jabs directly on Jason’s prostate with every thrust. 

The answer is also a complete truth. “I want to come!”

Vaas had chuckled and complied, softening his grip on Jason’s penis and stroking him to release. They’d collapsed in a breathless heap afterwards, clinging to one another for hours in the light of the bedside lamp, neither of them sleeping, the atmosphere heavy with things unsaid. 

Jason thinks on the question now, though there’s no real point. He’s been making choices without actually thinking about them, not even once, for all that he had come to believe that he had no choices in his life any more.

_(“You ever heard about the experiment with the dogs?”)_

An escape route unseen in plain view… but was there only one door? 

What does he want? 

There are still some choices to be made. 

His rendezvous with Maria had given him the last of the intel. The covert strike is tonight – a ground team, no air or water support. A dozen fighters, supposedly trained. 

Still keeping his mind clouded – or clear? He’s not sure of anything any more – Jason stands. Exits the bathroom. He’s unsurprised that Vaas is gone. 

He walks out calmly. Goes downstairs, makes his way to the amoury. Takes an AK and a handgun, a flare gun, a long knife and a bulletproof vest. A new pair of combat boots, just to be sure. A canteen of water and some biscuits. Even a pair of aviator’s sunglasses. 

It’s mid-afternoon and he has time. He leaves the compound without anyone stopping him. His gear is a little heavy, but not onerous. He avoids the bridge and takes a rubber ducky boat across the river, leaving it behind to be swept away. He heads north, taking the long way around. He passes privateers. No one pays him any heed. 

He keeps the ridge on his left, heading around it toward the ocean. The road will take him there. He takes his time, listening to the wind in the grass, cries of birds and his own heavy footfalls. The landscape is more scrub, less jungle, more flat plains on the southern island. It makes getting around easier. 

He ambles. Now and then a ‘what if?’ thought creeps into his mind, and he pushes it away before it can form. No thinking. Just acting. That’s the only truth he can manage, now. It makes everything right somehow. Honest. 

He has no idea what he is going to do. 

He eats his supper at an abandoned hut. There’s an army-issue cot by the window, and he dozes in the lazy afternoon warmth. It’s so peaceful, he can almost refer to his inner hollowness as a kind of contentment. 

The sun is going down when he stirs. Calm, so calm. Within and without. 

Not far now. Not long. 

He continues his lone journey in the orange light of the dying day. This is the first time in nearly a year that he has been afforded this level of freedom, but there is no elation to accompany it. No relief. For all he cares, it could be last year, and he is on his way to see Dennis. Or Willis. Or Citra. Or Sam. Or the doctor, or his friends. All either dead, or out of his reach. Uneasy alliances and dependencies, malevolence and frustration, and thin hope that he doesn’t even know he wants to acknowledge. Didn’t, even back then. 

Vaas. Tormentor, rapist, protector, lover. There was an understanding between them which had been brewing from day one. Jason had so often been unnerved by the maniac’s unfailingly accurate observance of his character that he had almost believed the pirate to be psychic. It was as if he was laid bare, able to hide nothing. Vaas was so quick to gauge his moods, and the reasoning behind them. Even though the man himself was erratic and unstable as nature itself, all frighteningly high intelligence and unpredictable outbursts and disturbingly familiar bloodlust. 

Jason knows there is a likeness between them, a similarity, kinship even, and he knows Vaas feels it too. There always has been. It fuelled the intimacy between them, even in the early days when Vaas sought to dominate Jason with power and lust and shameful reciprocation. 

_(“You and me. I feel like you’ve always been here.”)_

_(“You won’t leave me, will you Jason?”)_

_(“No one touches my boy.”)_

_(“What do you want? What do you really fucking want, Jason?”)_

_(“You love me.”)_

_(“We are so fucked, Jason…”)_

He’s not doing a good job of not thinking. 

_(“I’m going to stay. With you.”)_

He’d meant it, really meant it at the time, in the ancient temple a lifetime ago. Now he doesn’t know anything. 

Choices, choices. Always. 

Can acting without conscious thought be a kind of freedom? From choice, from responsibility? Or are actions the result of behavioural conditioning; the entire concept itself equal to a total lack of freedom? 

He shakes his head roughly to dislodge the thoughts rattling in his head like a box of broken jewellery. Concentrates on the sound of his boots on the ground as he crosses the plains. 

He reaches the ocean as the sunset is fading into twilight and the shadows disappear. Still some time to go. He leaves the road for the beach, uncaring of the sound of cars in the distance which never come any closer. He doesn’t care who sees him. Won’t answer questions. Will kill anyone who tries to stop him. 

He catches movement up ahead. It’s Maria, creeping along the shoreline, back to him. Jason ducks into a patch of scrub, watching her dark silhouette against the waters. The moon is rising, reflecting off the rippling waves gently sloughing the shore. The sea is calm tonight. 

She continues along the ocean line, keeping the ridge cliffs ahead of her, and Jason creeps along behind. She’s oblivious. Just as she’s running out of shoreline, where the ocean begins to lap at the cliff face, she stops. Pulls out a phone. Talks. Begins pacing, irritable, full of energy. Jason squats in the bushes, keeping her in plain sight. She’s close enough that he could hit with her with a thrown stone, if he chose. 

He waits. 

He doesn’t wait long. 

Maria takes a flare from her pocket. Lights it and tosses it onto the sand by her feet. 

A dark smudge on the water soon comes into focus. They arrive on a small dinghy, rowed by one at the helm. Most probably they have a sailing vessel anchored somewhere offshore, not too far away. There’s just enough light to see the outline of heads in dark caps and beanies. Twelve. All of the people Maria spoke of. Most likely meaning no one stayed behind to watch their boat; or no one who is a fighter, anyway. All with backpacks, all with weapons. 

Jason’s heart should be hammering. But it isn’t. 

Before they reach the shore he stands. Takes his AK, just in case, holds it steady. Strolls forward, slowly. Someone in the boat gives a shout and three of them stand. He can hear the click of weapons. 

“Maria,” he says calmly. 

“Jason!” she exclaims. “Oh, thank God you’re here. You’re not meant to be here, but still. That’s great! You can help us get there.” She’s babbling. “Did you take care of Vaas? Wait.” She turns to her crew, who have lowered their weapons. Jason can make out four men and three women at the front, a mix of races. Those at the back are indistinct. 

“This is Jason Brody, who I told you about,” she explains excitedly, not even trying to keep her voice down. “He’ll help us. He almost took them down on his own before. Now, we can’t fail!” She turns back to him, teeth bright in the moonlight, and Jason lets loose a single round into her knee. 

She goes down with a squeal. 

Jason whips around, finger on the trigger, blasting a line clear across the boat at chest-height. Bullets hit bodies with wet pops. There are a few shrieks from the boat. He hesitates, spots movement. Fires again. The trigger clicks as the clip empties. 

He drops the AK to the wet sand, ignoring Maria’s anguished cries. He approaches the boat carefully, cocking his handgun. 

The bodies are all in the wooden rowboat – none fell over the side. He leans against the edge, poking with his handgun, checking for signs of life and wishing he’d brought a torch. 

The bodies shift as a huge man rears up in front of him, grabbing his arm. 

“You fuck!” he roars, and Jason can’t help but be reminded of his altercation with Vaas earlier. It seems he can’t do anything right. “You fucking fuck-“

His bellows are abruptly cut off as one side of his face explodes with a wet bang. 

Totally unsurprised, Jason turns to see moonlit figures moving toward him from the scrub nearby. Six of them. And there is no mistaking the languid way Vaas moves. 

As he approaches, Jason sees the sniper rifle. 

“I had it,” he says flatly. 

Vaas chuckles. “Can’t be too careful, _hermano_.” He reaches Jason’s side and heaves the attacker up by the neck of his vest. He’s a white man, with a blond crew cut. The other privateers arrive and start picking through the boat. 

“No,” Maria sobs, trying to crawl away. Vaas removes a handgun from his belt and points it at her without looking. 

“There’s a live one,” calls a privateer, from the back, knee-deep in water. Jason cranes to look as they haul a terrorist up to her knees – young, moderately attractive, Korean appearance. She’s shaking, terrified. 

“Hmm,” says Vaas. “Could find a buyer for that one.” 

“Wait,” says Jason. He approaches closer, taking her all in. She’s crying now. 

“Pick through the bodies,” he says to the privateers. “See what they’ve got on them. Dump them out and burn them. But send her back to her people. If she can make it. You’ve got a vessel out there, right? With someone waiting for you all?” Her eyes widen in fright. “Yes, then. Go back. Tell your people what happened here.” He steps back. “Tell them what you saw. Tell them to leave us alone. This is our place.” 

A pause. She doesn’t respond. She acts like she hasn’t even heard. 

She’s in shock. Too young. She shouldn’t be here.

“Well?” Vaas barks, and she jumps. “What did my boy tell you to do?”

“G-g-go back,” she stutters in an American accent. “Tell them what happened. Don’t come back.” She barely gets the last word out as she breaks down into hysterical sobs. 

Vaas still has his gun trained on Maria. Jason turns and regards her. 

“Why?” she screams, mouth stretched hideously wide in grief, tears and spittle dripping from her chin. “I trusted you!” 

He has no answer, so he does not give her one. 

Vaas steps closer. Puts his arm around Jason, and he can’t help but melt into Vaas’ side. 

“She’s for you, baby,” Jason says, surprising even himself. “A gift for you.” He turns, looks into Vaas’ black-rimmed eyes, wide with surprise and delight. “I’m gonna go back to our room. See you there later, okay?”

A huge grin, and Vaas kisses him, deep and slow, and Jason moans. 

“Take a jeep,” Vaas advises when he pulls away. “We brought three. Go to the road south-west from here. I’ll see you in an hour.” He glances at Maria. “Or two.” She starts to shriek, trying to scuttle away, bleeding heavily from her shattered knee. 

Jason takes his leave, hearing the privateers dragging the bodies from the boat. The sobs of the young girl. A howl from Maria. Vaas has probably wrenched her to her feet by the hair. 

After about five minutes of walking, he finds the cars in the light of the moon. The keys are in the ignition of the second jeep he tries. He leaves. 

At first he mistakes the blossoming feeling in his chest for torment. Grief. Regret. Yet as he approaches the compound, wishing he was back on the island in the north, but still looking forward to a nice hot shower and Vaas’ return so they can make love and put the stress of the last month behind them, he realises he is wrong. 

It’s relief. 

He’s methodical on his return. Strips off his gear and puts it back in the armory, emptying the clips. Returns the boots. Goes to the canteen and gets a plateful of venison goulash – just one, as he’s not sure when Vaas will return, but he also takes a tin of spam and a loaf of fresh bread in case the pirate is hungry when he returns. He’s sure they have margarine and cheese in the little fridge in their kitchenette. And some fresh tomatoes. Vaas likes tomatoes. He eats them like apples.

He eats on their small couch by the light of the CRT television, watching old episodes of The Simpsons. He’s hungrier than he realised. He mops up the juices with some of the bread – the second slice, because Vaas likes the heels. It’s not as nice as the goulash Vaas makes him sometimes, and he makes a mental note to ask his lover to cook for him when they go home. It should be soon, now that his mission is over. He washes his plate, putting it aside for return in the morning. Watches some more cartoons. The night grows darker. 

He gives up on the TV after a while and strips, going to the bathroom and turning on the shower. Soaping himself up, he gives himself over to conscious thought, only to discover there is none. Nothing there. Just peace in his mind. 

He couldn’t be happier. He feels like laughing. 

There is nothing. There is everything. Just what _is_. And what _is_ doesn’t care what you make of it. 

The law of the jungle, if you will. Or the wild. Whatever.

It’s so simple. So easy. 

_(“Give her the rope she needs.”)_

Maria wasn’t the only one. But it doesn’t matter, not one little bit. 

He hears the door to their room opening, heavy footfalls, then the bathroom door. For the first time, his heart flutters in anticipation. Vaas has always been able to breathe life into his grey soul, for better or for worse, just by his presence. 

Jason slides the thick shower screen aside, too foggy and opaque to see through, and regards Vaas as he stands on the mat. 

Vaas is a horrific sight. His red vest is black with blood. There are splashes on his face and a large matt of wiry hair stuck to his shoulder with gore. His cargo pants are dripping. It’s down his arms. Clotted in his hair. He’s tracked bloody boot prints into the room. The knuckles on his right hand are pulpy. 

The two men gaze at each other for a moment, until Jason just goes with what _is_. 

He reaches out a dripping hand. 

“You’re a mess, baby,” he admonishes.

Vaas grins at him, beautiful in the stark florescent light. Kicks off his boots, pulls off his shirt. Dumps it in the rubbish bin. Does the same with his pants. Then he steps forward to join Jason in the shower. 

The floor of the shower turns red instantly. Vaas stands under the spray, raking his fingers throw his mowhawk and scrubbing his goatee. Jason runs a bar of soap over his chest, picking at viscous blobs and grit. Vaas turns and Jason runs soapy hands over his shoulders. The smooth copper skin shows through the mess. 

Jason continues cleaning. Lower. Caresses Vaas’ hips. Tucks his hand in the cleft of his buttocks, rubbing firmly. Stands with his chest to the pirate’s back, reaching around to soap his pubic hair and beneath the prominent erection to stroke his testicles, tangling his fingers in fine hair. 

“How’d you even get it down here?” he murmurs in Vaas’ ear over the sound of the water. Vaas chuckles. “It’s fucking shit. It gets everywhere.” He shifts his hips back so Jason’s hard cock fits in his cleft, rubbing through the soap. They both moan. 

They rut gently, safe and warm together, Jason secure and grateful in the knowledge that Vaas won’t question him. He won’t ask. Vaas, and Vaas alone, understands what _is_. He doesn’t need explanations. Never needs to ask _why_.

Jason won’t ask either. What’s done is done. The threat is gone. In the wilds, another will be along soon enough, and there is no room for regrets or reflection. Just like he knows that Vaas’ sniper rifle had been trained on his own head as he approached Maria, but he does not bother pondering whether Vaas would have pulled the trigger. He knows for sure that Vaas is not giving it any further thought. Probably won’t even mention this night again. 

They turn to face one another, pressing faces into each other’s necks as they embrace. Lean muscular bodies slide against one another, hands explore and lips are pressed against wet skin. Tongues and teeth glide and nip. Cocks press together, finding friction in the spray. 

There are no whispered words of love beneath the drumming of the warm water, but only because there is no need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for sticking with me. I hope this conclusion is to your satisfaction! I am sure going to miss my boys.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a multi-chaptered fic and the timeline jumps about a bit. I've had these two in my mind for ages but never worked up the nerve to post anything until now. Chapters will be added as I finish them. Con-crit always welcome!


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